Closer
by TenderHooligan
Summary: Everything is returning to normal after the War. But when it comes to Ron and Hermione, the word 'normal' doesn't really apply. And with the world around them still in pieces, will they rebuild it together, or will they find it difficult just to stay together when there's so so much left unsaid? Book 1 in the There Is a Light Series.
1. A Mostly Unnecessary Preface

**A Mostly Unnecessary Preface**

I'm just going to say this once so I don't have to put a disclaimer at the top of every chapter each time I put a new one up. I do not own _Harry Potter_ or any of the wonderful characters the wonderful J.K. Rowling created for all of us to enjoy. I'm just grateful to get the chance to play with them. I also don't own any of the songs I've chosen to associate with my story. Everything else, with a few exceptions (which I will point out as they come), belongs to me.

Now, feel free to just skip right to Chapter 1. What follows is my intentions for this story and isn't essential reading. But if you get confused by the time you reach Chapter 2, you might want to come back here for an explanation.

The story that follows is meant to cover the year following the events laid out in _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ (minus the Epilogue obviously) and I plan to keep it as canon-compliant as I can. And that includes all of the info Jo has given out in interviews since the book's publication. Of course, it seems like Jo has managed to lay out a rather happy, albeit boring, ever after for our characters, so I'll be spicing things up a bit from what I believe she imagined while still trying not to outright contradict her.

Canon info I know I'll be bending: Hermione bringing her parents home immediately (just doesn't seem realistic to me); Ron not helping George at the shop until after he retires from the aurors (I've read two different interviews about this and they confused me on the timeline, so I decided to make Ron help George first because that makes more sense in my head.

I also want to make it clear that this is a Ron and Hermione story, not just a Ron/Hermione story, and each chapter will be told from either Ron's or Hermione's perspective. It won't necessarily alternate from one to the other each time a new chapter is posted, but I promise you they'll both get an equal chance to have their say.

Now, I want to explain the necessity for even having a forward.

First, there will quite a few mentions of past events that are said to have occurred during Books 1-7 that we never saw. They'll probably have some of you scratching your heads, wondering "when did that happen?" In answer to that, I'll let you all know that I'm not just throwing in things willy nilly. A lot of them are meant to be essential to the plot, to Ron's or Hermione's characters, or add to the development of the relationship developing between the two of them. I've also outlined these "missing moments" and even written a few of them out completely. I plan to finish and publish them as a sort of scattered prequel once this story reaches its conclusion, which should hopefully help clear up any lingering confusion. But that's putting the thestral before the carriage isn't it? Just try and have faith that I know what I'm talking about, even if you all don't.

Second, I want to mention the structure of this story. The first chapter picks up three months after the Battle of Hogwarts on August 1, 1998. This story is considered the 'present' and it continues forward chronologically in the odd-numbered chapters, ending in July of 1999. Now you're probably wondering 'What's the deal with the even-numbered chapters then,' right? Well these nonlinear chapters will serve to cover the time between Harry, Ron & Hermione's visit to Dumbledore's office at the end of _Deathly Hallows _and Chapter 1. There will also be two chapters devoted to events that occurred during _Deathly Hallows _that weren't covered in the book itself (in other words, missing moments). Because I never take the simple approach with anything, the even-numbered chapters will be nonlinear, jumping about as I cover those three missing months, which will probably lead to more head scratching as you try to piece everything together. But I promise it'll make sense in the end.

Why am I doing this? Well most importantly, because I can. But also because I find flashbacks in most cases to be awkward and contrived. The characters themselves know these past events, so why are they suddenly going over them in perfect detail? And they often interrupt the flow of the story. Which isn't to criticize anyone who uses flashbacks in their own writing. I merely thing that it's a difficult thing to pull off well, and I don't have the confidence in my writing to try.

I do plan to put a list of all the chapters in chronological order here in the Preface once it's all finished, (which if all goes according to plan should be in 30 chapters), letting you know what actually happened when. So if you feel like giving up on the thing, give it another shot when it's finished, with that list as a guide to help you keep things straight. I personally, think it'll be pretty easy to tell when each chapter is happening, but that might just be because I'm the one writing the damn thing.

And finally, this is not a songfic, despite the fact that every chapter is named for a song, and no lyrics will appear in the actual story. I write the chapters out and only give them a suitable title after they're done. I like to think of the music as a soundtrack to my story the same way films have and that's how I'd like you all to take them. It's not necessary to like or even be familiar with the songs I choose, but it's my hope that you will find a song or two that you can enjoy or connect with on some level as they are all songs I love and hold very dear to me, considering my love of music is second only to my love for reading and writing.

Well that's about it for now. Everyone all ready bored and confused? Good. Now let's get this show on the road.


	2. CH1: Hey

**Chapter 1: Hey**

_1 August, 1998_

Ron Weasley looked around the table and couldn't help but smile.

He stood alone in theWeasley's kitchen at the Burrow, the table covered with an assortment of plates heaped with food, a breakfast he thought would even put the house-elves at Hogwarts to shame. Even better, he had been the one to fix it. And best of all, he was pretty sure it was actually edible.

Now there was only the slight problem of having to control his hunger until everyone else in the house was up. Ron knew Percy was already up, preparing for work. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Percy had moved back to the Burrow to help the family through their transition. He'd only returned to the Ministry the week before, after being appointed the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. And despite Percy's past, the last few months had made Ron confident he would be a huge improvement over the woman he was replacing.

Bill had left a few weeks before, expressing the desire for Fleur to go and see her family whom she had not been in-touch with since their wedding the previous year, and the need for both of them to return to work and begin building a future for their own family. When he'd first been told of Bill's plans, Ron had worried. Bill, in Ron's eyes, had always been perfect regardless of the scars that marred his face. And though things around the Burrow had slowly been improving, he'd liked having Bill around as his rock to fall back on, the person he could count on to know what to do and find a way to get it done. But then he'd left and surprisingly nothing had changed, except there were two fewer people to talk to. And genuine conversation was something Ron had truly grown to appreciate as of late.

Charlie unfortunately had only stuck around England long enough for the many funerals following the Battle of Hogwarts before agreeing to help Kingsley and the Ministry by working abroad, joining a team of others in contacting foreign governments and requesting aid and help to rebuild the country in the wake of the war. He still owled every week, which was a big improvement over the letters the family received from him once every two or three months when he was working with the dragons, but it wasn't the same as having him there.

His father was also working at the Ministry. Technically, he'd returned to his old job as the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, but was basically working triple overtime helping Kingsley with anything and everything he needed. Ron knew it pained his father to return to work as if he was abandoning his family in their time of need, but the Weasleys were used to self-sacrifice and Kingsley needed as many trustworthy people as he could get, and the number of those still around were in short supply.

Finally unable to restrain himself any longer, Ron picked up a fork and skewered a large sausage and shoved it unceremoniously into his even larger mouth. As he chewed a small owl flew through the window and dropped a letter into a bowl of porridge. Ron fished it out. It was still too early for the usual post, and he guessed it must be something Ministry related for either his dad or Percy. And sure enough, he saw that it was from Kingsley himself. But strangely enough, the envelope was not addressed to either his father or brother. It was addressed to him.

Well to him and Harry, which meant that he probably already knew what it was about.

Ron scowled. He tore open the envelope and read the rather short letter. When he'd finished, Ron balled it up and tossed it in the trash, his suspicions confirmed. The letter stated that Kingsley would be arriving at the Burrow at eight to discuss something with the two of them, and considering the things Kingsley had talked about during his last visit to the Burrow, Ron didn't want to hear what he had to say. Noticing that it was already half passed seven, he decided to wake Harry so he could have some breakfast before the Minister arrived. He had a feeling Harry would be far more excited to talk to Kingsley than he was.

When Ron returned from Bill's and Charlie's old room a few moments later, a yawning, pajama-clad Harry Potter in-tow, he found Percy and his father, both already dressed for work, enjoying the breakfast he'd prepared for them. Apparently they didn't have any qualms about waiting around. Nevertheless, Ron grinned at how different his older brother was compared to the uptight prick he'd grown up with.

Ron plopped Harry down into his usual seat and took the one beside him as his family members offered their greetings.

"The two of you are up rather early today," commented Mr. Weasley.

"Just wanted to see you off Dad," Ron said, filling Harry plate with eggs, kippers and toast as he noticed his friend was still half-asleep. Thankfully it wasn't a lie, or else he might've felt his ears burning. After all, it had been the reason when Ron first woke at the crack of dawn.

"Ron, it's not as though this is our first day on the job. I have been working at the Ministry for the past four years and a few months off should have no affect on my performance," Percy stated. Ron hid a smirk. Some things never changed, and that included his brother's desire to make his way completely on his own, and that included having his little brother fix meals for him, which Ron had been doing for weeks now. "But thank you for breakfast," Percy added after a moment.

_And some things do change_, Ron thought. True his brother was still the overly ambitious perfect-Percy he'd known for years, but it was amazing to see how different he was since returning to the Burrow and his family. He had been the first one to step-up, restoring the house to order after months of abandonment. He had begun filling Bill's shoes before he'd even left. In fact, Ron guessed that Bill might have stayed much longer—might still be there—if Percy hadn't left absolutely no doubt that the rest of them were in good hands. Hell, Percy might have even left the Ministry completely if their father and Kingsley hadn't convinced him of all the work that needed to be done there and how desperately they needed people they knew to be both capable and trustworthy. Still, Percy had put it off as long as possible. And now it was Ron's turn to step up. And if Kingsley would let him alone, he planned to do just that.

After several attempts, Harry's fork finally found his mouth, and the taste of food must have woken him up at last for he began to eat ravenously.

"Everything taste's great, Ron," Mr. Weasley said. Percy offered his agreement, but Harry snorted.

"It better. He's only been practicing on us for months now," Harry teased. Ron just laughed. It was hard to believe the sincerity of Harry's ribbing considering he was shoveling eggs down his throat at a pace that Ron doubted even he himself could keep up with.

"How else did you expect me to learn how to cook? Practice is the most practical way to learn anything," Ron said, waggling his for in the air.

Harry choked, then coughed. "Sorry," he spluttered. "You just reminded me of Hermione."

Ron stiffened for a moment. "Could say the same thing about you: staying shut up in your room for hours with nothing but books for company. Next thing we know, you'll be knitting pajamas for Kreacher."

The four of them laughed. As Mr. Weasley and Percy moved to clean their plates in the sink, Harry leaned over toward Ron. "Not that I'm not grateful for breakfast and all," he said in a low voice, "but was it necessary to wake me for this?"

Ron wondered if his friend would ever stop being suspicious after everything he'd gone through the last few years. Of course, in this case, he had a reason to be. "Got a letter from Kingsley this morning. Said he's coming here to talk to us," Ron whispered back.

"Do you think it's about—"

"What else?" Ron said, cutting him off. "I just hope Dad and Percy leave before he gets here."

Unfortunately they heard a knock at the front door, and a moment later Mr. Weasley opening it and expressing greetings to someone, quickly followed by the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt as he replied.

"So Percy, Arthur, I'll see you both in my office later?" asked Kinglsey as he walked into the kitchen.

"Of course. see you at 10:17 Minister," said Percy formally before heading into the other room to Floo to work.

"Don't forget to save some of this for your brother and sister," said Mr. Weasley, looking pointedly at both Ron and Harry. They both nodded. Looking satisfied, he nodded his head toward Kingsley and moved to follow after his elder son.

As soon as his dad left, Ron felt a sudden heaviness in the room. It was odd; Kingsley was the Minister of Magic, but Ron had always been quite comfortable around the man. It was only lately that Ron had started to feel uneasy in his presence.

Apparently Harry didn't know what to say either. After a few moments' silence, Kingsley took a seat at the table unbidden and, after a quick "May I?" and the smallest of nods from Ron and Harry, began fixing himself a plate.

Ron was too uncomfortable to eat, and merely watched. Soon Harry resumed his own breakfast and Ron, feeling like he had to look like he was doing something, began pushing food around his plate with his fork.

"Do you both remember my last visit?" Kingsley asked after what seemed like an eternity to Ron. Inwardly he groaned. His suspicions had been correct. He caught Harry glancing in his direction his direction before his dark-hard best friend answered in the affirmative. "Well, then I can assume you remember that when I returned Ron and Hermione their wands, I also confiscated the wands that had previously belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco Malfoy, and Peter Pettigrew."

Both boys nodded, but Ron suddenly felt lost. _What was this about wands? What did it have to do with Auror training? _he wondered.

Kingsley proceeded. "As you know, the Ministry currently has a lot on its plate at the moment. Our number one priority of course is tracking down any Death Eaters still at large as well as sentencing those we've all ready taken into custody. But our second priority is clearing the names of the innocent." Ron looked over at Harry and saw him nodding at Kingsley's words. Ron knew how lucky they were to have a Minister like Kingsley after the likes of Fudge and Scrimgeour, and that Harry would be relieved that he was helping people like Stan Shunpike, but Ron still did not understand why Kingsley had to come here and tell them these things in person. Surely they'd read about it in the Daily Prophet or Percy or Dad would tell them about it.

"In the course of our investigations, we examined the three wands you gave me, and performed _Priori Incantatem _on them." At this Harry stiffened, apparently realizing where Kingsley was going with everything, though Ron was still completely lost.

"Yeah. So?" Ron said impatiently, feeling left out.

"So," said Kingsley, "it was discovered that during your months on the run, you both had been Apparating without licenses."

"So what?" said Ron. "What's the big deal? Me and Harry broke the law, but we've got licenses now. And the penalty's only a small fine. Told us so when we were taking lessons at Hogwarts."

"The 'big deal' is that the Ministry is also aware that Harry has performed two of the Unforgiveable Curses," said Kingsley, his tone very stern.

Ron looked at Harry, searching for surprise. But all he saw was the familiar guilt and grim determination.

"They can't do anything to Harry, though," said Ron indignantly on behalf of his silent friend. "I mean he saved everyone. It's not like they'll throw him in Azkaban for that, right?" It didn't make sense. Even months after Riddle's defeat, not a day went by without the Prophet praising and thanking Harry for what he'd done, a welcome change from their previous slander. He was a hero and everyone knew it.

"Well that's the problem, Ron" said Kingsley, lines of worry etched into his face. "I've been doing my best to try and show that the Ministry's turned over a new leaf, trying to be fair and impartial, eliminating corruption and favoritism, basing everything on right and wrong. And unfortunately, the use of an Unforgiveable Curse falls into the category of wrong. I could almost certainly get the charges against Harry dropped without—"

"Then do it," implored Ron.

Kingsley smiled despite the circumstances. "I could get them dropped without anyone complaining. In fact, I expect a huge outcry once the public gets wind of this in support of Harry. But…"

"But it'd set a precedent. And somewhere down the line someone will try and use it to needle their way out of trouble," said Harry, speaking for the first time, color and resolve having returned to his face. "It's okay Kingsley. I understand."

Ron's face drooped in understanding. Once again, Harry was going to do the stupid, idiotic, completely noble thing regardless of what it cost him personally. And once again, Ron knew there was no way he could talk Harry out of it. All he could do was look at his best friend and morosely wonder if it wouldn't have been kinder for Harry to have died in the fight against Riddle than to waste away in Azkaban. _Perhaps it won't be so bad with the Dementors gone_, he thought pitifully.

"I am hopeful," Kingsley continued, breaking through Ron's misery, "that with the circumstances being what they are, we may be able to get some kind of reduced sentence."

"But the curses, the Imperius and the Cruciatus, they're Unforgiveables. If I go free after casting them, even partially, won't that amount to the same thing as letting me off completely and set the same precedent?" asked Harry. Ron could hear it in his voice, the conflict between hope and acceptance.

"Well yes, it would. But as long as there's a trial, it shouldn't harm the Ministry's message going forward. Harry, you have to know that no one wants you convicted. You are, more than ever, universally seen as the savior of our world." At Kingsley's words Harry looked away appearing embarrassed and Ron smirked despite himself. He finally had an inkling of what it was like to be revered as a hero, and could sympathize with Harry's feelings. "And I believe that as long as the case and trial are handled properly and we get started on your defense immediately, your actions should more than make up for your transgressions. While I can't promise that you'll get off Scott free, I think a sentence can be reached that you can live with."

Ron listened. It sounded too good to be true, but it made sense. Harry had told Ron how he used the Cruciatus on a Death Eater during the last battle, but maybe it could be argued that he was only defending McGonagall. And Harry's use of the Imperius Curse during their Gringotts break-in had been absolutely necessary in getting their hands on the Horcrux and Riddle's final defeat. Of course explaining that was a whole other problem.

Harry appeared to be thinking along the same lines when he spoke next. "But how exactly can we do that? It's not like we can explain why we needed to break into Gringotts in the first place."

After slipping away to Gryffindor tower after Riddle's defeat, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had sat down together and discussed whether or not to share exactly what they'd been doing for the past nine months. Dumbledore had of course been very adamant that Harry share the information about Riddle's Horcruxes with only Ron and Hermione, and through everything they'd kept the secret their own. But with Riddle gone and the Horcruxes destroyed, Ron hadn't seen a need to continue the secrecy. It had been necessary to prevent Riddle from finding out what they were doing before they succeeded, he had argued. So what was the big deal in telling people about it now? Mostly Ron had been thinking of his family to whom he still owed an explanation, and of Hermione who had planned to finally come clean to her parents about everything once their memories were restored.

Harry on the other hand, had looked at things more practically. Yes, Riddle was gone, but not all of his Death Eaters had been apprehended. And if it was discovered that Riddle's near-invincibility was owed to the evil relics, who knew what other dark wizards would be tempted to follow in his lead? He had argued for complete secrecy, regardless of the difficulties it would pose for them personally.

In the end it had been Hermione who found a compromise as they munched on the sandwiches Kreacher brought them. While information about Horcruxes was very hard to find, it was certainly out there. Riddle had discovered how to create them as a mere boy, and he certainly hadn't been the first to make his own, even if he was the only wizard to have created multiple Horcruxes. To that end, she decided that Kingsley needed to be told, if only for the sake that he would know what steps to take in the future should another follow in Riddle's footsteps. And she also suggested that they tell Ron's father. He certainly wouldn't share that knowledge with anyone, and it would go a long way in explaining what they three of them had gone through. Ron had instantly agreed, insisting that there was no harm in telling her parents as well, since they were Muggles and probably wouldn't understand most of it anyway. And in the end Harry had reluctantly agreed, thanks in part to Hermione's insistence that Ginny would demand an explanation from him, and it was about time he gave her one.

Ron wracked his brain. "Maybe we can show them why it was necessary. With memories in a Pensieve. Take out the ones of our break-in and—"

"You know we can't do that Ron," Harry interrupted.

"I don't mean the whole thing," Ron clarified, "just the parts about getting the cup. We don't have to tell them what it was or why it was so important. Just say we needed it to defeat Riddle."

"I'm afraid that line of thinking won't work. They'd still want to know why. And unfortunately, since it's common knowledge that memories can be tampered with, it wouldn't really help clear Harry," said Kingsley.

"Well…what about Veritaserum?" Ron said, reaching frantically for a solution. "We can take it and they can just ask if we needed to use the Imperius to get the cup and we needed the cup to beat Riddle. And we'll tell them it was and—"

"That won't be possible either. We'll have no control over the questions they ask the three of you, and if you've been given Veritaserum, you'll have no choice but to answer them honestly and that could inadvertently lead to the revelation of things better left unsaid. No, I think a standard trial is the only way to go about it, and hopefully the Wizengamot will decide their verdict based on Harry's past actions and his character."

Ron felt so defeated that he completely missed one of the details Kingsley had mentioned. Harry, however, did not.

"What do you mean by the three of us?" asked Harry.

"Well the two of you and Hermione Granger of course."

Ron was having absolutely none of this. "Oh no. We don't need to get _her _involved in this. She didn't even _do_ anything. We're the ones who broke the law."

"Ron, we need her," Harry argued. "I don't like involving Hermione either, but she'll help our credibility. And she knows a lot more about trials and laws and this stuff."

Ron was incensed. He could not believe Harry wasn't taking his side on this. Harry owed it to Hermione not to involve her in stuff like this. And more importantly, he owed it to Ron to keep her from getting involved. "We don't need her mate. We've got Kingsley," Ron said, looking hopefully to Kingsley who nodded his support. "And we can do this just as well as she can. Don't forget, I handled Buckbeak's appeal third year."

"And I seem to remember that Buckbeak lost that appeal."

"Well he still got a stay of execution."

"Only because Hermione and I helped him escape," Harry said with a certain finality in his tone. "So unless you've got a Time-Turner for insurance, I think we need her."

Finally Kingsley spoke. "Unfortunately Ron, Hermione is all ready involved whether you want her to be or not. You see, all three of you are charged with breaking into and stealing from Gringotts."

"But the Ministry doesn't even control Gringotts," whined Ron.

"And that is our biggest problem," said Kingsley, his tone very serious. "This is an entirely different issue. You see, the Ministry wants to put you on trial to clear your names as soon as possible. But the goblins of Gringotts want to punish you for your crimes. They're the very reason it's so imperative to bring you to trial and clear you as soon as possible. You three will need the support of the Ministry to avoid goblin retribution and we can only give you that support once you've cleared."

Ron remembered the warnings Bill had given him about dealing with goblins and a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione's droned on about the violence goblins were capable of. And their own dealings with Griphook had certainly shown that goblins would not stop until they had exacted what they believed was owed to them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Kingsley got there first. "Also, Ms. Granger has her own charges to answer to at the Ministry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "She had her Apparition license and I'm pretty sure she never cast any Unforgivables."

"Yes, but the use of Memory Charms are very closely monitored. Just as there are other curses that can kill in a less direct method than _Avada Kedavra_, memory charms are seen as a form of control not unlike the Imperius Curse. And Hermione had to perform a number of them to modify her parents' memories to the extent that she did. She drastically changed the last nineteen years of her parent's lives in doing so, even if it was for their own good."

"But how does the Ministry even know about that?" Ron asked. "She used her own wand for that, not Bellatrix's."

"That is a good question, and one I have no answer for at present. Our Ministry obviously helped in getting her to Australia and in putting her in-touch with the Australian Ministry to assist her in finding her parents, but all anyone was told was that they had gone there to hide. No-one outside the Order should have known about the memory charms she used."

Everything just seemed to be going from bad to worse, and the mounting problems they now faced reminded Ron strongly of the times he and Harry had allowed their homework to pile up during fifth year until the very last minute so that it seemed impossible they could finish it in time—at least not without Hermione's help.

"But like your Apparition without a license charges, I don't think this is a great concern. We know that she has all ready removed the charms from her parents. So the only thing needed now is for Hermione to testify that it was done for their safety. At worst, she's looking at a fine for having performed the charms without their prior knowledge."

"So…we have to find Hermione?" asked Harry, looking over at Ron.

"Find her and bring her back," said Kingsley.

"And how are we supposed to do that? We don't know where she is. She never told us." Harry said this with his eyes still on Ron, looking for his friend to confirm his words, but Ron only grinded the hilt of his fork into the table.

"No, but since officials from the Australian Ministry helped her find her parents, they do. And they've kept close tabs on her during her stay. It's standard procedure to monitor foreign wizards, especially ones as prominent as Hermione."

Both Ron and Harry blinked, obviously unaware of that policy. Kingsley continued. "I hope neither of you had plans for today." Harry shook his head, then glanced over at Ron who mumbled something about being able to get by for a day or two. "Good," Kingsley said, reaching into a pocket and then slapping a rumpled bowler hat that looked very much like the one Fudge had been so partial to on the table. "This is your Portkey. It'll activate at 2:03, which gives you time to pack. There will be representatives from the Australian Ministry there to meet you when you arrive. They'll help you make it the rest of the way to where she's staying with her parents and arrange a return Portkey once you've filled her in. Remember, time is of the essence. The sooner you bring her back, the sooner we can get started on preparing your defense."

Ron was bowled over by everything he'd learned since Kingsley had arrived, and was so preoccupied processing the fact that they would be leaving for Australia in a matter of hours that he barely noticed the Minister stand to take his leave and completely failed to follow Harry's example in showing him out.

"Nice belated birthday present Kingsley brought you, huh?" said Ron as Harry returned to his seat.

"Remind me to return the favor." When Ron didn't respond, he tried again. "Just like the old days, eh?" Harry joked with a grin—Ron's favorite in the world since he saw it so little, even these days. "You and me, going to Hermione for help to get out of some mess."

Inwardly Ron frowned. It wasn't like the old days, not really. They'd never had to go to Hermione for help before. She'd always been there right beside them, ready with the answer before the two boys even fully comprehended the problem.

"Are you okay with this?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

"Not like we've got much of a choice, it seems," Ron said, finally digging his fork out of the table. Harry fixed it with a quick _Reparo_.

"That's the spirit," Harry feebly joked, clapping him on the shoulder before digging back in to his own breakfast. "Reckon we'll go pack soon as we're done. Only problem should be telling people we're leaving."

"Let's not." When Harry shot him an almost Hermione-ish look of disapproval, Ron clarified. "I mean we can write a note explaining where we've gone and why, but we'll just make sure they don't find it until after we've gone. Not that we should say anything about the trial and whatnot. Just say that we're going to bring her back and won't be gone for more than a day or two." Hopefully it'll be that easy to convince her, Ron though skeptically. "Besides, we really don't have time to go to the Ministry to tell Dad and Percy in person."

"You really think they'd stop us?"

"Why risk it?" Ron said, wondering briefly what his mother would think of them going halfway around the world. _That's if she even notices_, he thought.

This seemed good enough for Harry who downed the rest of his pumpkin juice in one go. "What about Ginny?" he asked after swallowing. "She'll notice if we try and slip off."

Ron looked at Harry for the first time in ages, flabbergasted. "What do you mean 'what about Ginny'? She's coming with us."

It was Harry's turn to look surprised. "She is? I mean you...you want her to come?"

Ron shrugged. "This isn't like going to hunt Horcruxes. Should be perfectly safe."

Harry looked at Ron suspiciously, then slyly. "You _sure _you won't mind? I mean I promise to keep the snogging to a minimum, but I don't know if that'll stop Ginny—"

"It'd bother me more if you didn't let her come with us. You know how she feels about the last year, being left behind. You swore to me you wouldn't hurt her like that again—"

"And I won't," Harry interjected.

"Then stop being thick and go tell her the news. She takes forever to pack. And make sure to knock first so she can make herself presentable before you go in to see her," Ron warned. Harry grinned at his best friend before nodding and walking away. Suddenly Ron's hand caught his arm, turning him back around. "Err, you might want to leave out the bits about why we have to go, at least for now."

Still grinning, Harry clapped his should again. "I'm not that dense mate."

"Right, Ron said, grinning in return "'Course not. That's why I know you'll be sure to make it clear this is a request because we want her there, and not because you feel guilty."

"Since when did you become so wise about women?" Harry said with a laugh.

He then headed to Ginny's room with a spring in his step, leaving before he could hear Ron's reply, or see the grin slide off Ron's face.

"Not as wise as you'd think," he said, jamming his fork into his last sausage before getting up to clean his and Harry's dishes.

...

Shortly before two, Ron rapped on the door softly, waited, then knocked again. He pulled out his wand and cast the charm to unlock the door and marched in. He really didn't want to do this right now. He was out of sorts all ready what with the pending trials, the having to travel halfway across the world with his annoying sister and her boyfriend, and the thought of seeing Hermione again. Dealing with his brother was always a delicate and complicated task, even when Ron was in the best of moods.

"George," he called out gently. His brother lay on his side, turned to face the wall, his back to Ron. He tried again. "George. We're leaving. Me, Harry and Ginny. I left a note for Dad, explaining things on the table. Don't know when we'll be back, but it probably won't be until tomorrow at the earliest. I fixed dinner though. It's in the icebox, just needs to be reheated.

George let out a groan as a way of response. At least Ron knew he was still alive. If you could call George's cycle of getting drunk every night and his subsequent hangovers being alive, but it was something. _More than Fred at least_, Ron thought bitterly.

"Don't go out until Percy gets home okay? I don't like leaving Mum all alone."

Ron waited, but when there was no response, he turned and left closing the door behind him. As it clicked, he heard a grunt that sounded like it could've been the words 'I won't.'

He went to his room and grabbed his bag before heading back down to Harry's. Briefly he considered saying goodbye to his mother, but knew nothing would come of it except a greater sense of guilt and helplessness. Trying to push thoughts of her to the back of his mind, he entered, finding both Harry and Ginny sitting on his bed playing exploding snap, their bags packed and ready. He wondered exactly what Harry had told her about why they suddenly needed to fetch Hermione, but was glad that he hadn't been the one to have to tell her.

"Well I left a note on the table downstairs for Dad and Percy to find when they get home," Ron said, setting his own bag on the floor and taking a seat on an empty crate. Actually there were two notes, one explaining that the three of them had left to go see Hermione in Australia, and another addressed to Percy, apologizing for the fact that he'd have to pick up the slack around the house with Ron gone. He'd also owled Verity at the shop, telling her he wouldn't be coming in for the next few days. Ron certainly felt bad about leaving, but he wasn't sure if he could attribute his feelings to guilt over leaving his family or if he simply didn't want to deal with the situation they found themselves in.

Australia was in the dead of winter as Ginny had thankfully reminded them and the three of them were bundled up with coats and scarves. It was almost comical with the August weather turning the house into a sauna. Actually the whole idea of traveling to Australia would have been rather exciting under normal circumstances. None of them had done much traveling; Harry had never been out of the country and Ron's and Ginny's trip to Egypt was now a distant memory. Of course, Ron couldn't really remember the last time the circumstances surrounding him could be called 'normal'. _Probably the day before I met Harry_, Ron thought amusingly.

"All set?" Ginny asked. Ron nodded, happy she wasn't asking him any questions. She'd been good about that actually. More so than even Harry, Ginny had been the best at getting Ron to forget his worries and concerns and allowed him to feel relaxed and enjoy himself and suddenly he feel a wave of affection for his little sister, quite happy she was being included on their journey.

He joined them on the bed as they put away their cards. They sat in silence until Harry announced "It's time." The three of them reached out to touch the hat and moments later, Ron felt the familiar jerk forward and his feet leave the ground before suddenly finding themselves deposited on a pitch of grass surrounded by closing darkness. Ron was pleased to find that he'd managed to stay on his feet. Harry had been less lucky and was picking himself up off the ground, Ginny helping him to dust off a few blades of grass that clung to his clothes.

"All right there?" a voice called out. The three of them turned to find a man a few years older than Bill with spiky bleach blond hair dressed in Muggle clothing watching them. Ron tensed for a moment, his hand on his wand, wondering what was worse: being spotted using magic by a Muggle or attempting to use a memory charm for the first time. Luckily he saw that the man was holding a wand, and relaxed.

"Must be the crowd I'm waiting for," the man said. "You'll be Harry Potter. Recognize the scar and all. Pleasure to meet you. Name's Arnie Stout, Australian Auror." He extended his hand and Harry took it.

When the man named Arnie didn't offer the same to either of Harry's companions, Ron spoke up. "Hey! We're in a bit of a hurry."

"Huh?" said Arnie, finally looking away from Harry's forehead. "Oh right, right. Well, welcome to Australia mates."

"Where exactly are we?" asked Ginny, looking around in wonderment.

"Kings Park in Perth."

"And Hermione's nearby?" asked Harry.

"Miss Granger? Not exactly. We'll be taking the Inback. Drop us off right near her folk's place."

"The what?" asked the three of them together.

"The Inback. Magical transport," said Arnie. "Should be by in a few. Come on then. Need to get a move on over to the bus stop."

As the set off, Ginny asked if Arnie was in-charge of keeping an eye on Hermione

"Too right," said Arnie a bit glumly. "And a dull job it is. Lucky I only have to check in on her a couple times each day, so I still get regular assignments. Still a bit of a pain, but at least Ms. Granger's not the homely sort."

He said this last with a smile on his face and Ron had to restrain himself from knocking Arnie's nose back into his brain. "And it's just you watching her?" Ron asked suspiciously, struggling to keep his voice even.

"Nah. Got my partner Gibbons on watch as well. We take her in shifts."

"And is Gibbons a bloke or a bird?" Ron asked, his teeth clenching at Arnie's phrasing.

"Bloke. But why's that matter?"

Noticing Ron's pained expression and suspicious eyes, Harry elbowed him in the ribs, and shot him a look when Ron looked about to complain. "Never mind," Ron mumbled.

"Well here we are," said Arnie when they'd reached the edge of the park before plopping himself down on a bench and slouching down. "Nothing to do now but wait."

Ron could not imagine how much of a mess the Australian Ministry must be if they were making blokes like Arnie into Aurors. Or maybe the problem was there weren't any messes, so they could afford to make a clown like him into a dark wizard catcher. Briefly he wondered how much trouble the country might be in if they were suddenly faced with their own dark wizard.

They stood around, Ginny and Harry taking in the sights, Ron tapping his foot impatiently as his frustration mounted. After what seemed like ages, the vehicle Ron presumed to be the Inback pulled up.

The Inback looked to be a single-story version of the Knight Bus. Luckily, he found it to be a much smoother ride once Arnie had paid their fares and they'd found their seats. As they sat three across, Arnie had to find his own seat a few rows away for them, and no sooner had they set off than the Auror promptly shut his eyes and began quietly snoring.

Just to be safe, Harry whipped out his wand and cast _Muffliato _before they finally filled Ginny in on the rest of the details about their trip. She took it well, much better that either of them had, though that was probably due to the fact that she knew they were agonizing about the trials enough all ready and her excitement about seeing Hermione. Soon as they'd finished she turned away from them to look out the window, watching the lights go by as moved away from downtown and toward the suburbs, stopping every so often to let off or pick up passengers.

The three sat in silence, Ron doing his utmost to keep his mind blank. Finally, with no warning whatsoever, Arnie stood up and yanked the pull chord, letting the driver know they wanted to get off. The Inback came to an abrupt stop and the three followed Arnie as he disembarked. They found themselves in a quiet suburb, the lights of downtown twinkling in the distance, and Ron was strongly reminded of the neighborhood Harry had lived in with the Dursleys.

"Well, here you go. Address is #23," Arnie said, holding out a piece of paper with the street and number written on it.

Ron took it. "You're not coming with us?" asked Harry.

"Arnie shook his head. "Try to interact with the Muggles as little as possible. Standard procedure. I'll be back at eleven tomorrow to fetch you for your Portkey back, so try and get everything sorted tonight." Harry and Ginny both seemed a bit put out by this, but Ron was more than happy to see Arnie go.

The three of them watched him Disapparate, then set off down the street, Ginny chatting Harry's ear off about something or other, Ron walking ahead of them silently not bothering to look at the addresses of the houses they passed. Behind him, Ron could sense Harry had his hand on his wand, even as his voice remained normal as he occasionally muttered a reply to Ginny, and smiled. His mate was going to be one hell of an Auror. Ron on the other hand, though quite tense, felt completely safe as they walked. He could almost pretend that they were just out for a late-night stroll, despite the chilled temperature. Just the four of them, strolling through the moonlight, a hand covered by an oddly-shaped mitten encased in his larger one…

Ron snapped out of his daydream as he found himself at the right house. #23. A simple home, smaller than the one the Granger's had owned back in England, which made sense. After all, the Wilkens had bought it when they thought it would just be the two of them living there, neither having any idea that their forgotten daughter would join them there ten months later.

"You sure this is the place mate?" asked Harry.

Ron nodded as he walked up to the porch, the others following. "Ginny, you should be in front."

"Why me?" she huffed. Ron groaned. He should've realized it wouldn't be a good idea to say that like he was trying to boss her around. He simply didn't know who would be opening the door: Hermione or her parents. If it was Hermione, it probably wouldn't make much difference who she saw first, but the last time Ron had spent any time with Hermione's parents had been before the start of sixth year. And since his behavior toward their daughter had been less than 'respectful' to her at times since then, and because he had no idea what exactly Hermione had shared with them, he thought it safer if Ginny was the first face they saw on their doorstep.

"Please Ginny," Ron asked. His sister looked at him for a moment before finding something in his expression that satisfied her. She turned back to the door and knocked.

It was several minutes before the door opened, and Ron finally comprehended how late it was. The Grangers had probably been asleep at this hour. Sure enough, when the door opened, they found themselves face to face with an angry, but sleeping looking Mr. Granger, dressed in a robe and slippers.

"Yes?" he asked gruffly.

"Err…" Ginny trailed off. Luckily, Harry jumped in, saving Ron from having to do so.

"Sorry, Dr. Granger. I don't know if you remember, but I'm Harry Potter, and this is Ginny and Ron. We're friends of Hermione and—"

A look of recognition dawned on Dr. Granger's face as soon as he turned to look at Harry. "Oh right, of course. A…what are you doing here?"

"Well, we were, eh, hoping to see Hermione."

Ron tensed, wondering what Dr. Granger would make of this. Would he be worried that they had come to bring Hermione back into danger? How would they explain the reasons for their visit without confirming his suspicions. He needn't have worried however. The man welcomed them inside and ushered them into a sitting room. He called to his wife explaining who their guests were, then turned back to them to explain. "Sorry, Hermione didn't tell us you were coming. She's out at the moment and we're not sure when she'll be back. Must've slipped her mind that you lot were coming tonight."

"She didn't know we were coming, actually," Harry corrected.

"Oh, a surprise visit, is it? Wonderful."

None of them said anything to the contrary, and soon Mrs. Granger joined them, bringing tea and h'ordeuvres with her, as the five of them sat. Hermione's parents chatted with them amicably, asking them how they were doing, how Ron and Ginny's family was dealing with the loss of Fred, and offering their sympathies. It was all horribly polite and rather uncomfortable, and Ron did his best to remain completely silent, only speaking up when addressed directly. This left Ginny and Harry to do most of the talking, which they clearly didn't appreciate, especially when Mrs. Granger complimented Ron on how much he'd grown since he'd visited their house the summer before sixth year. Neither he nor Hermione had ever shared that fact with Harry, and the look in Harry's eyes upon discovering this secret made him feel guilty. It was clear that he thought the least Ron could do in light of this betrayal was interact with their hosts, since he clearly had spent the most time with them. Thankfully, Ginny quickly changed topics by asking them how they were enjoying life in Australia.

Ron busied himself with the food and drinks, wondering how anyone could consider anything containing asparagus to be remotely appetizing, and noting how little the two were Muggles were sharing about their daughter. He was torn between wanting to hear everything about Hermione since she'd left him months ago and wanting to pretend like she'd been in touch with him all this time, keeping him abreast of her life with weekly letters instead of the single bit of post she'd sent to him since leaving. He was also quite curious about what could possibly be keeping Hermione out at this hour.

He looked at Hermione's father. There'd always been something off about him, something Ron disliked immensely about the person who'd been the most important man in Hermione's life. He'd never done anything to him personally to create this dislike. In fact, he had been quite friendly with Ron when he'd visited, which had pleased Hermione. And he knew Hermione herself adored her father. She'd inherited her drive to excel and thirst for knowledge from him. Nevertheless, the feelings still nagged at him.

Ron turned instead to look at Mrs. Granger and found her eyes on him. A lump rose in his throat at the sight. Her eyes were full of compassion and love and worry, so much like his own mother's, only without any hint of her anger. She knew where Hermione was, and probably why she hadn't written him all this time, but wasn't telling him. But why? To protect her daughter's privacy, or to protect his feelings?

He looked away, feeling rather uncomfortable. Hermione could read him better than anyone, and he knew from experience her mother possessed the same gift. So he returned his scrutiny to his tea and waited.

Shortly before midnight, they heard keys turning in locks, and the front door open. Right now, Ron could picture Hermione's surprise at finding the lights still on despite the late hour. She had probably all ready taken out her wand as a precaution, and he wished someone would call out to her to reassure her and let her know things were all right, unwilling to do so himself.

Finally, she made her way into the room and Ron found himself standing. He'd purposely situated himself in the seat furthest from the door, allowing himself to take in everyone's expressions upon her arrival. Not that he noticed. His eyes went to her and saw nothing else but the face that he missed more than any other in the world, the one that matched his dreams and memories so perfectly but still seemed completely different, as no memory could compare to the real thing.

"Hermione, sweetheart, your friends have come to see you," Mrs. Granger told her daughter unnecessarily. He saw Hermione turn to look at her, then glance at Ginny and Harry. Distantly he heard voices, though who they belonged to or what they were saying was impossible to make out. Then, she turned to him, and their eyes met.

"Ron," Hermione gasped softly.

Then, with more difficulty than at any time in his life except when he first awoke after being poisoned, he replied.

"Hey."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The story's title comes from the album _Closer _by Joy Division.

The chapter's title comes from the song "Hey" by the Pixies off their album _Doolittle_.

Just so you know, Perth is eight hours ahead of England time, so when they first arrive it's just after ten at night. The bus (yeah I know the Inback is a really lame name) ride takes about forty minutes.


	3. CH2: Brand New Life

**Closer  
><strong>

**Chapter 2: Brand New Life**

_May 3rd, 1998  
><em>

Hermione sat up with a jolt and looked around. Her first question was how long she'd been asleep. Her second was where had Ron gotten to. It was late, or perhaps very early, judging by the darkened sky outside the Gryffindor common room windows. They'd slept the entire day away up here, hidden from the rest of the world, finally having finished the mission set out for them a year ago. She looked around the deserted room: a few plates of half-eaten sandwiches sat on the table where Kreature had left them hours earlier. She made toward the staircase leading to the boy's dormitory but stopped herself. If Ron had wanted to sleep in a bed, he would've gone up hours ago with Harry rather than stay with her on the couch.

They might just be talking, she thought, resuming her march up the stairs. But that didn't make sense either. Harry had explained to both of them about everything they'd missed about Snape's memories, the Elder Wand, and everything that had gone on in the Forbidden Forest. And they'd discussed their plans going forward ad nauseum until finally Harry had enough and traipsed off to bed. And there she found him, the sole occupant of the seventh year dorm, no long The Chosen One or The Boy Who Lived, but just a boy, or man rather, just her best friend in the entire world. Hermione approached him, brushed the hair back from his forehead and kissed it. Harry sighed a little in his sleep and rolled over, and she couldn't help but smile. He looked so peaceful, so content.

Ron had often shared with her all the times he'd found Harry turning restlessly in his sleep or been woken by the nightmares playing in Harry's mind, and she'd seen a bit of it firsthand while sharing the tent together. She sincerely hoped nothing would be able to disturb Harry's dreams ever again. As she turned, she saw the marauder's Map sitting atop the nightstand next to the phoenix wand. She grabbed it and left.

Hermione climbed through the portrait hole into the corridor and headed for the grand staircase. She knew most participants from the battle were camped out in the Great Hall, still celebrating Voldemort's final defeat. Others, like the Weasleys, had found empty rooms on the ground floor to share alone in their private grief. After they'd come down from the Headmaster's office, she and Ron had sent Harry to the tower to wait for them. She'd followed Ron and they found his family gathered in an empty classroom where Mr. Weasley had conjured cots and sleeping bags for all of them. Ron had told them that Harry needed rest and that they were going to stay with him to make sure he wasn't interrupted. It had been almost silly, thinking of themselves as Harry's personal bodyguards after everything he'd done, after defeating Voldemort himself, after mastering the Elder Wand, after having lived through the killing curse yet again. But she knew it wasn't danger they were protecting Harry from, but the joy of celebration and the grief, both rampant in the aftermath of the battle. Harry had needed to escape all that—they all had, together.

Ron's mother hadn't said anything to them, but Mr. Weasley nodded in understanding. Hermione knew it hadn't been easy for Ron to leave them to stay with her and Harry, and thought it likely that he had left her side to seek them out. The question now was whether he wanted her to find him.

She thought back to the night before. They'd slept together, there on the couch. It had only been the fourth time they'd gone to bed together like that, and it had been wonderful feeling Ron's arms wrapped around her. It was a miracle he'd managed to get up without waking her, and even more of one that they hadn't fallen off the couch in their sleep.

Perhaps he wanted time alone with his real family. As close as the three of them were, as close as they had always been, there were still eleven years of his life she'd completely missed out on, years he'd spent exclusively with his fellow redheads. It made sense that he wanted time alone with them, or else he would have brought her along. But that didn't stop her from wishing he had.

She shivered as a cold draft swept past her before escaping through one of the many new holes in the castle's façade, scars from the battle. Hermione suddenly felt very alone. Ron had his whole family—if it could still be called whole after what had happened to Fred—for support and comfort. And the Great Hall was full of family and friends united together. Yet here she was, a lonely girl with no one beside her. Her only family was halfway around the world. Harry was probably the one other person who understood how she felt, but he didn't seem too bothered at the moment, and she was unwilling to intrude on his calm for her own sake.

Hermione mentally chastised herself for these thoughts. She wasn't alone in her solitude. The castle was full of people who had died or lost love ones just hours earlier, and here she was, relatively unharmed, moping over how bad she had it.

She reached the Great Hall and found it fuller and louder than she remembered despite the hour. The celebration was clearly still in full swing. She remembered reading about the end of the first war, and how after Voldemort's defeat the news had spread slowly across the country, told in uncertain whispers as if it was too good to be true, the soft din growing slowly into joyous proclamations. Last time, no-one had witnessed Voldemort's defeat besides baby Harry and it had taken hours for people to learn what had happened, and even longer for them to believe it was real.

But this time, Voldemort had fallen in front of hundreds of witnesses. His body was still here, somewhere, as evidence. And Kingsley and the other aurors had put the word out immediately. As a result, the entire wizarding world was aware of what had happened and had been in celebration all the past day. Of course, most preferred the privacy of their own homes and families, but many others had come straight to Hogwarts to bear witness to the victory that had been achieved. Hermione felt a flash of anger at these latecomers. Where had them been during the battle itself? They'd been unwilling to fight, but made sure to come after it was safe so they could look back on day and say 'I was there.'

But then she thought of Tonks, and Lupin, and the anger was gone. She couldn't blame those who had stayed away. She certainly wished Tonks had, wished Fred had. Most people outside the Order hadn't even known the battle was going on until after it was over. No, she couldn't blame them. Briefly she considered joining the others in the Hall. She had earned the right, more than most. And she was so desperate for company. But the celebrants before her eyes was not the company she sought.

Instead, Hermione walked to the entrance hall and pulled out the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she said, tapping the old parchment with Bellatrix's wand. In spite of herself, she smiled. In all the times the three of them had used the map, never before had she been the one to utter the words that activated its magic. She certainly couldn't imagine her fourteen year-old self—so disapproving of the map and the rule breaking it enabled—muttering the phrase or using it with such ease. But of course, things change over the course of four years.

Scanning the map, she found the Weasleys' classroom, and her eyes moved across the seven names listed there: Arthur, Molly, Bill, Percy, George, Ginny and Fleur. Hermione was surprised. Ron wasn't with them. Her eyes darted around the map, searching for his name in nearby classrooms, in the Great Hall (though there were so many people inside, it was impossible to distinguish one name from another), the toilets, even the Prefect's bathroom, even though she knew he'd only used that room once (wary of a visit from Moaning Myrtle since Harry had told him how she kept him company on his own trip to the baths fourth year). Impossibly, Ron had vanished from the map. For a moment she thought he might be in the Room of Requirement or the Chamber of Secrets since neither of them showed on the map, but she pushed those ideas aside. There was no reason to go back to the Chamber, and the Room of Requirement was probably shut forever, its magic broken by the fiendfyre.

Now she was starting to panic. She knew not all the Death Eaters had been captured. Might they have come across Ron and attacked him out of desperation? Could they have taken him back to Malfoy Manor, or some other secret location? Was he all right? Did she have time to get help or should she leave now? Stuffing the map into her pocket, she took off at a run, slipping through the open doors of the castle—symbols that the danger was gone and that all were, once more, welcome at Hogwarts—hurrying toward the edge of the grounds and the anti-Apparition wards as she slipped on the muddy ground.

It was then that she saw him. He was sitting there by the lake, leaning against their favorite beech tree, looking out across the dark water. How could she not have checked the grounds outside the castle? I forgot, she answered herself, very embarrassed and very thankful no one had seen her in her frenzy. She took several large breaths, trying to calm herself, then started toward him once more, wondering yet again if she should intrude on his solitude. But then he turned, as if sensing her presence, and his smile lit up both their faces in the dark, setting her heart a flutter.

"There's my girl," Ron called out, indicating that she should join him with a tilt of his head.

Hermione forced herself to take another breath. He doesn't mean it like _that_, she told herself. You haven't even talked about _that _yet.

Actually, after Harry had left, they hadn't done much talking at all. She blushed at the memory. Ron had encouraged her to eat, and she had suggested they go to their respective dorms and take advantage of a real shower. But neither of them had been hungry, and both had been too tired to make the climb up the staircase, so they'd merely sat in silence on a couch in the common room, Ron looking into the fire, Hermione looking at Ron until suddenly, Ron had turned to her and said they ought to get some sleep. She'd nodded, but then he was reaching out, tilting her chin up toward his and their lips met.

That second kiss had been so different from their first; there was no sense of urgency or frantic desire behind it. Instead it had been light and brief and their lips separated far too soon for her liking. But then he was kissing here again. And again. And again.

One-hundred-and-eight-seven. That's how many kisses they'd shared with one another so far. Well, a hundred and eight-eight including that first reckless one she'd initiated. She'd counted. And there was something immensely wonderful about that number, and how she could still recall the feel of each one. Of course she could never tell Ron she had kept track of a thing like the number of times they'd kissed. He'd call her barmy for caring about something like that, and ruin it for her. But that was all right. It was her secret joy only for her. And besides, she had a feeling that soon enough she'd lose track as the number climbed higher and higher. And that thought was even more wonderful.

She finally reached the tree and sat down next to Ron, leaning into him naturally, as if they'd been doing this for years. It amazed her that in one day the number of times Ron had kissed her had dwarfed the number of times he'd made her cry in all their years as friends. Slowly, Hermione ran through each kiss in her mind, remembering how each one had felt like a quiet declaration that, finally, they had all the time in the world, all the time for each other to fill with those little kisses.

She wasn't sure she could call them passionate. Ron's lips had brushed against hers like the feather on a quill tickling her mouth as she thought about what to write next. And then they were gone. He'd pulled back before she even had time to close her eyes or adjust to the fact that Ron Weasley was kissing her. Purposely. Without embarrassment. She'd been confused and looked in his eyes to try and understand his meaning. But then he was kissing her again with that same light touch, like a whisper, like smoke, before it was again over all too quickly. Each kiss had called to mind a single word, one that she'd never associated with Ron before: gentlemanly.

Of course for all his crassness and rude behavior, she'd always known he had another side, a gentler, more caring, sweeter side, one that he reserved almost exclusively for her that made her feel safe and needed and even flustered at times. But Ron, the boy she'd known for seven years, had never been a gentleman, at least not around her…until last night.

Hermione would never tell him this either, but those kisses had reminded her of Viktor. There had been none of Ron's usual fire behind them, none of the heated kiss they'd shared hours earlier, and certainly nothing like the groping snogs she'd seen him exchange with Lavender. They were chaste and hesitant, as if he'd been unsure that he even had the right to kiss her.

Sitting there with him, she realized those kisses had been his way of letting her know that there was a difference between herself and Lavender—hopefully between herself and any girl Ron would meet for the rest of his life. With Lavender, snogging had been the important thing, the only thing. It hadn't mattered that the lips had belong to Lavender, only that they were lips at all. But what mattered to him now was the person behind the lips. And there was that something else as well, that awareness behind each one that encouraged them both not to rush.

He'd kissed her like that over and over, each one so immaterial that they felt like illusions, like tricks played on her mind. But slowly she found that each kiss was slightly firmer than the last, each one lingering a moment longer than the one before. And she was sinking deeper and deeper into him. She barely noticed Ron wrap his arm around her as he slid both of them to lie down on the couch, facing one another, his hand on her back keeping her from rolling away from him.

And slowly, the balance had shifted. Just as Ron had wanted to be clear that the kisses he shared with her were different from those he'd shared with Lavender, Hermione wanted it to be clear that in her mind, Ron had all ready erased any trace of Viktor's kisses. Soon, she wasn't letting him pull away between kisses. Her hand snaked behind his head and kept their mouths pressed closed together, pulling away only to breath occasionally. And for a time, he'd let her, but slowly he began to pull away, and the kisses became shorter and softer once more. And their eyes opened and they simply lay there smiling at one another between each kiss until finally, they drifted off to sleep.

It was funny. When she'd finally settled on the idea that she fancied Ronald Weasley, Hermione had given up on the idea of a Prince Charming. But that's exactly what Ron had been last night. He hadn't even commented on how awful she probably smelled, coated in ash and blood and who knew what else.

"What are you smiling about?" Ron asked, breaking her reverie. She began to turn to look at him, but he simply pulled her closer so that her cheek lay flush against his chest.

"You," she said awkwardly, but reveling in the word and what it meant to admit aloud. It was so strange to say such a thing to _him_. It had been painfully obvious for some time how close they had become, but as hard as it was for both of them to show one another how they felt, it was even harder to say it out loud. For how much the two of them liked to talk, one would think that part would come easy, but sadly that wasn't the case.

Maybe if we just shouted our feelings at one another it wouldn't be so hard, she thought, making her laugh.

"I know I'm hilarious and all, Hermione, but a bloke wouldn't mind an explanation as to why you're laughing. Else he might get the wrong impression and think you're laughing at him."

"I'm sorry," she said, suppressing another laugh and mentally scolding herself for acting so loopy. "I just feel a bit strange right now, after everything. So much has happened and I haven't really had the time to process it all and make sense of it."

"Well, you've got the time now," Ron said simply. They sat in silence a moment before he continued. "When you figure it out, make sure you clue me in so we're on the same page."

There. Right there. What exactly did he mean by that? Should she just ask him, tell him to speak plainly? Like your being so straightforward, she reminded herself.

For years she had been infuriated by Ron Weasley. In many ways, he was one of the simplest people she knew. Not to say that she ever doubted he was complex deep down, but usually he never hesitated to speak his mind and had no trouble saying exactly what he meant. And he was absolutely terrible at hiding his emotions and feelings no matter how hard he tried.

When Hermione had first started picking up signals that Ron might be interested in her in ways other than mere friendship, she'd had her doubts. Yes, he'd been rather obvious with his jealous in fourth year, and he seemingly had tried giving her hints over and over again in fifth year that he liked her _in that way_, even if his attempts to do so had mostly been clumsy, misguided and decidedly Ron. But his actions and demeanor had been at odds with everything she knew about him that they were never to be trusted. It just didn't make sense that someone who was so callous toward her could also fancy her.

Especially sixth year when things had been such a mess. It had been like he was two different people. The Ron that agreed to go to Slughorn's party with her fancied her. The Ron who snogged Lavender hated her. His good side was unsatisfied with 'Lav' because he really wanted Hermione. His evil side never made a move on her even after things were back to normal. Each action was perfectly clear in its meaning. It was just putting it all together that made everything so complicated and contradictory and prevented her from finding the answer to the one question that mattered most to her.

But sitting there, her head on his chest, his arm around her waist, it was different. She finally had her answer, knew it for certain without a single trace of doubt, without ever hearing the words come from his mouth. Ron Weasley fancied her. Unfortunately, after answering this one question, she had a thousand new, smaller questions to find answers for. Just how much does he fancy me? Does he love me? Do I love him? Are we really old enough for that? What if he doesn't want something serious yet? Or what if he does want something serious and I mess things up? Should I even be thinking about all this when his brother just died?

Hermione knew it was ridiculous and useless to think about these things, to have all these worries when _they _had just started. One of the most important things Ron Weasley had taught her was that at some point, you need to stop worrying and just enjoy the moment. Still, it was comforting in a way to worry about these trivialities, liberating to think of _this _as her biggest concern. It was nice, just being normal, just being a…girl.

"Hermione?" Ron said, breaking through the silence. She looked into his face, noticing his concern and realized she'd probably been quiet for a long while.

"Yes?"

"You were doing that thing again: where you go off into your head and figure everything out but never bother to explain to me and Harry until after you've ran off and done something and it's too late for us to change your mind about it."

"Sorry. I was just thinking about Lavender."

He tensed but covered his reaction but holding the back of his hand to her forehead. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Hermione? Maybe I should take you back to bed."

Her mind whirred at the implication behind his words. "No, I'm fine Ron," she said, trying to inject her usual sternees into her voice, hoping it would distract him from the fact that she was about to lie to him. "I was just wondering if she was all right. After what happened to her…"

"Oh. Right." Hermione cursed herself for dampening his spirit. The playful teasing was gone from his voice and she could see that he was lost in thought and worry, most likely recalling the image of Greyback hovering menacingly over Lavender's still body and would probably soon turn to others who had been hurt and sooner or later would come to Fred. Well, now that she was in for a penny, she might as well be in for the whole pound.

"Ron, why were you sitting out here?"

"Huh?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Not sure. Just needed some air I guess. Sure you don't want to go sleep some more?" he asked, his question more sincere and less teasing than before.

She shook her head, noting he sounded rather tired himself, and wondered jut how much sleep he'd gotten the night before. Hermione felt a little hurt. She could tell he wasn't exactly being honest with her, and she'd thought they had finally reached a place where they could be comfortable telling one another anything. Their feelings for one another had been the final barrier between them and complete trust. She knew he wasn't exactly a big supporter of talking things out—with her or Harry—unless absolutely necessary. He'd always called her pushy for bothering others to talk about what was bothering them instead of simply letting them come to her. But that was why they'd worked well together over the years. Ron did come to her to talk about things, things other than quidditch and food and chess, things he didn't talk to Harry about. It hadn't been often, but she'd relished being the one he opened up to. And now, more than ever, she knew he had something on his mind and needed to talk to someone about it, and couldn't help herself from pushing a bit more. "But it'll be dawn soon, and everyone will be up. Maybe we should go see your family?"

"Yeah, probably," he said absentmindedly. Ron stood and helped her up. Then Ron smacked his forehead. "Hermione. Your family. Your parents. I wasn't even thinking about them."

Her eyes suddenly felt hot and damp. She was angry with herself. Here was Ron, whose family had just been shattered, who had just lost a brother, and yet she was the one crying.

And then his arms were around her, holding her against his chest as she sobbed, his hand stroking her hair. "Hey, I'm sorry," Ron said. "I shouldn't have brought them up. I know how much you worry about them." Hermione merely murmered nonsense into his chest, dampening his tattered shirt, wishing she could tell him that was only half the reason she was crying. He shushed her. "Don't worry. I'm sure they're okay. We'll…we'll go to Kingsley. I'm sure he can help us find them. He probably wants to talk to us anyway. Then we'll go and find them and bring them back."

She pulled back a bit to look into his face. "You want to come with me?"

He looked at her with a mixture of amusement and pity, the same way he always did when she announced she was going to get a book to read of simply relaxing with him and Harry as they goofed off. "'Course I will. God, I'm sorry I brought them up if it makes you cry Hermione. But you really don't need to worry. They're perfectly safe. You took care of everything."

She let out a choked laugh. This whole thing had started with her lousy attempt at trying to comfort Ron and now here he was consoling her. She knew crying made Ron uncomfortable, and that he never seemed to know what to do with her but also never asked told her to stop. Probably because most of the time he knew the tears were his fault. And this time was no different, except now they were tears of happiness.

He handed her a hankerchief and she used it to dry her face and blow her nose before handing it back to him bashfully.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much. Thanks Ron."

They smiled at one another when his stomach growled, reminding them of how little they'd eaten the past forty-eight hours, and they both laughed.

"Well come on. Let's find my family and them some breakfast. I don't know if the house elves are up to cooking, but I think I remember the way to the kitchens."

Hermione noticed that despite his tone, his face had taken on a rather strange expression. "What's the matter?"

Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "Err I was just wondering if I could kiss you."

She saw that he was blushing. Part of her had expected never to see his ears turn that shade of red ever again after last night when he'd been so calm and confident and was quite happy to see that he was still very much the boy she'd fallen for. "You don't have to ask my permission Ron."

Ron smirked. "You're going to regret saying that."

Not likely, Hermione thought. As if unable to resist any longer, Ron lifted her up so that her toes barely skimmed the grass and kissed her full on.

It took her by surprise; after all this time, after always having to meet Ron halfway—or more than halfway most of the time—here he was doing everything. And instantly she knew this kiss wasn't going to be anything like those kisses from before. It wasn't about sending any kind of message or proving that he could be a gentleman.

It was gentle but incredibly firm, hesitant but insistent, innocent yet lustful, unsettling but reminding her of home. It was a mess of contradictions and there was nothing else like it in all the world, save Ron himself. And she hoped all their future kisses would be exactly like kiss one-hundred-and-eighty-nine.

Whey they broke apart, both looking a bit starstruck, he asked if she was all right. And when she felt none of the usual irritation at Ron for questioning her over and over, but only a sense of comfort, familiarity, and warmth, she realized she'd never been more confident of her answer in her entire life.

"I've never been better," Hermione said as they headed back toward the castle, their fingers knitting together as they walked.

They went back to the room the rest of the Weasleys were in. They stood together outside the door for a moment before Ron opened it and stepped inside quiety, unsure whether anyone would be up yet. Unsurprisingly, both of Ron's parents were all ready up. Mr. Weasley sat in a chair, reading a copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet announcing Voldemort's defeat. Mrs. Weasley was kneeling next to Ginny's cot, stroking her sleeping daughter's hair lovingly. Bill, George, and Percy were also sleeping but Fleur was also up, though she was still lying in her sleeping back next to Bill, simply watching her husband sleep.

Mr. Weasley put down his paper to greet his son with a full hug. The Weasleys were a rather affectionate family—even if they often expressed this affection through teasing, shouting, pranking and even hitting one another—but Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing Ron hug his father before. She had not entered the room with Ron, but stood in the doorway, just watching as father and son exchanged a few quiet words before the older man nodded and together they began to wake the remaining Weasleys.

She just watched, not wanting to intrude. She saw Ron hug Ginny—possibly the only person who frustrated Ron more than herself—tightly and Hermione's heart was suddenly so full, watching as theirs were breaking, and she was frowning and smiling all at once. Finally he seemed to realize what was missing and looked toward her, encouraging her to join them with a very weak smile. She walked over and hugged her friend, her hand finding Ron's. Briefuly she wondered if any of the other Weasleys would notice, if they would care.

"Right then. Breakfast, everyone?" Mr. Weasley announced jovially now that everyone had wiped the sleep from their eyes.

A quiet voice spoke up, one Hermione barely recognized. "Could someone get Harry? He should really be here. The whole family should be together."

Hermione looked to see it was Mrs. Weasley speaking, the strong woman, forever teetering between screaming and crying because of her love for her family. When had her family last been all together? The summer of the World Cup, before Percy had turned his back on them, she answered herself. And now that he was back, Fred was gone, and he could never return like Percy had.

"I'll get him," Hermione said, letting go of Ron's hand. He looked at her, his eyes questioning whether she wanted company. She shook her head, silently telling him she was coming right back, and to stay with his family. She would find him again. He smiled in understanding, and reached out to squeeze her hand once more time before making his way over to George. She gave him one last look before leaving the classroom, wanting to run all the way up to the Gryffindor common room, knowing that while it was okay for them to be apart, she didn't want it to last longer than it had to.

She raced up the staircases to the common room despite the indignity, practically jumping on Harry in the rush to wake him.

"Come on Harry. You don't plan to sleep forever do you?"

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed startled. He reached for his wand and glasses. "What time is it?"

"Half eight. Now come on. Ron and everyone are having breakfast downstairs. You do remember breakfast don't you?"

"I seem to remember hearing about it, but I've never seen it before. Always thought it was just a myth." They were joking and smiling with one another and it was wonderful. Until Hermione noticed a rather foul odor.

"Oh Harry," she mumbled, covering her nose and mouth dramatically. "You really need a shower and a change.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well it's a good thing you smell like a bed of roses."

He was right. She'd known instintively that she must've looked an smelled a mess since waking up. But until someone said something it hadn't bothered her. Ron had probably been a similar state and she hadn't noticed or cared either. But now it seemed imperative she get cleaned up, even if it meant delaying her reunion with Ron.

She raced down to the common room and then back, leavning Harry only enough time to shout a single 'Hermione!" in questions. "All right," she said, now brandishing her beaded bag and pulling out a change of clothes for Harry. "Meet back in the common room when we're finished." And she was off again before he answered, headed up the girl's staircase to the place she'd considered her home away from home for six of the last seven years.

She tried to shower quickly, using magic to speed along the process of cleaning her hair, even though she knew the spell would cause her hair to frizz out more than usual. But it was necessary or Harry would waiting for her for an hour. Still it was wonderful to stand under the hot spray. At Shell Cottage, Fleur had made her take baths instead while she was recovering and, though wonderful, had forced her sit with her nakedness laid out before her eyes and see the many new scars and bruises she'd acquired. But now she did her best not to think about the raised skin and the pain she felt when she moved a certain way or when she washed particular areas on her body. She only hoped they would fade in time.

Washed and dressed, she met Harry downstairs and set off to join the Weasleys in the Great Hall. Their sea of red hair was easy to spot sitting together near the end of one of the long tables. It seemed as though they were trying to keep to themselves, though she noticed Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell sitting with George.

She slid into the open seat next to Ron but intead of sitting across from them next to Ginny like she'd expected, Harry sat down on Hermione's left. Ron slid both of them a pair of plates all ready piled with extra large helpings of their favorite foods and a goblet of pumpkin juice for Harry and a cup of coffee for Hermione.

"Kingsley says we can talk to him after we're done here," Ron said quietly, leaning toward her slightly. Not that it mattered. None of the other Weasleys except Ginny were paying them the slightest bit of attention.

"You spoke to him?" Hermione asked.

Ron nodded. "Just got back from the Ministry a bit ago. "Said he and McGonagall will be up in her office waiting for us."

"Her office?" asked Harry. "You mean she's—"

"Yup," Ron said, jamming a piece of toast into his mouth. "New Headmistress and all. Decided last night I suppose and just announced it this morning."

Hermione was happy for her favorite teacher. With Dumbledore gone, she couldn't think of a better candidate to lead Hogwarts.

The rest of breakfast passed quickly and quietly, all of them too focused on filling their bellies to talk much. Unsurprisingly, Harry and Hermione finished first. They sat back to digest and watched Ron choke down his food. "Ready?" Hermione asked him as he reached out to begin filling his plate for the fifth time. He looked out over the spread but nodded reluctantly and the three got up and left to make the treak to the Headmistress's office.

Telling Kingsley and Professor McGonagall about their search for the horcruxes was at once both liberating and draining. Finally they were free of the secret burder Dumbledore had given Harry, and by extension to Ron and herself. But still it was an uncomfortable tale to share. For his part, Ron remained completely silent. At first this annoyed her, and she was constantly shooting him nasty looks to let him know. But when they finally reached the part about Ron leaving them in November, she understood. Luckily Harry spoke up, simply bending the truth by mentioning he and Hermione were separated from Ron thanks to a group of snatchers, going on to explain how lost he and Hermione had been during this time, culminating in their disastrous trip to Godric's Hollow, before retelling how Ron discovered how to use the Deluminator to find them again, managing to rescue Harry from drowning, recover Gryffindor's sword and destroy the locket in the process.

She saw Ron open his mouth to speak several times during this part of the story, but Hermione grapsed his hand under the table and squeezed, her nails biting into his skin, telling him to just let Harry explain. She knew Ron still felt guilty about leaving, probably moreso now that before, when they'd still had the task of finding the remaining horcruxes to distract them and he'd been forced into taking charge of the search while Harry's obsession with the Hollows deepened and she herself remained sullen and moody over Harry's attitude and her conflicted feelings over Ron's return.

It wasn't just Ron that Harry protected. He didn't tell Kingsley or McGonagall that it had been Hermione's fault his wand was broken in Godric's Hollow. And he made it sound like the terrible idea to visit the Lovegood's had been a mutual agreement, and not Hermione's mistake. And Ron himself spoke up when they came to their capture, telling a flat out lie that it had been his fault for having said Voldemort's name. She knew it was his way of trying to express his gratitude for Harry, even if it was a bit farfetched considering how difficult it still was for him to say the name aloud.

But as he continued, telling about their imrpisonment and escape from Malfoy Manor, Hermione thought Ron might've had a second motive. He had wanted to be the one to retell Hermione's torture at the hands of Bellatrix. In his words, he described her brilliance and bravery both in not revealing information to Bellatrix as well as coming up with a clever cover story. His description of the torture was thankfully brief and not very descriptive, but the pain in his voice and his tight grip on her hand let her know how hard it was for him to talk about. By the time they came to their arrival at Shell Cottage, he couldn't continue and Hermione took up the story, her voice thick, a few tears running down her face.

Finally, they let Harry explain about his final duel with Voldemort and how he came to possess the Elder Wand. When he'd finished, the two adults looked at them dumbfounded.

"Never," McGonagall said sternly, her own eyes shimmering slightly, "in all my years have I know students more likely to find themselves in trouble than you three." This prompted Ron to laugh out lound, breaking the tension that had built up in the room.

Hermione took out her bag and set it on the table. "Um, Professor. Ron and Harry and I…we discussed what to do with the remains of the horcruxes and, well…since they all belonged to the Hogwarts founders, we thought it best to give them to you." She pulled out the broken locket, the cracked cup and the melted diadem, setting them on the table. Kinsgley leaned forward to examine them with cool interest, picking up each one and turning it over in his hands. McGonagall however seemed reluctant to touch the things, barely giving them a second look.

"Unfortunately, there's another matter that needs to be addressed," said Kingsley when he finished his inspection. The three of them looked up. Hermione had a feeling about what was coming and it turned out to be correct. "The whole of the wizarding world is very interested in hearing about your defeat of Voldemort, Harry. And they're most certainly curious about what you've been up to for the last year thanks to the rumors about your break-ins at the Ministry and Gringotts. And while I agree that we should keep the existence of the horcruxes between us, we'll have to tell them something."

Hermione could see Kingsley's face tighten as he spoke, as if angry at himself over his words. She could practically feel Harry tense up even though he sat on the other side of Ron. "Now, I can talk to the papers for you. I won't tell them anything you don't want me to. But I'm almost certain if you avoid them today, it won't be the end of it. They'll hound you day and night for your story, and if they can't get you to talk, they'll piece together their own tales and fill in the blank spaces with whatever lies they find convenient."

Harry nodded. "I'll talk to them."

"Remember, you won't have to answer questions you don't feel comfortable with. You know I'd prefer not to put you through this at all but.—"

"But they'll write the stories anyway. We understand," Harry finished for him.

"Exactly," nodded Kingsley, standing. "When do you want to handle this?"

"As soon as possible. I want this over with."

"Then I better get to work. Just come and meet me out in the courtyard as soon as you're ready. I'll take care of the rest," he said as the four of them left McGonagall in her office after a few words of goodbye and thanks were exchanged. The Kingsley was gone, his auror robes sweeping behind him, leaving the three friends standing alone together.

"Will this ever be over?" Hermione complained.

"It seems like there's always something," Harry agreed.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," said Ron. Harry and Hermione both looked at him, stunned. He shrugged. "What? Both of you've had the pleasure and I reckon I reek worse than Hagrid in July."

"You're not coming with us?" asked Harry.

Ron shook his head. "Actually," he paused, looking sheepish, "would you mind not…mentioning me? During the interview?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. They must both had the same idea about Ron's behavior. Harry looked Ron in the eye and after a moment shrugged and started to walk off. Hermione turned to Ron, half wishing she could just accept Ron's words like Harry did. "Ron why don't you want to talk to the interviewer? It'll probably just be Luna's dad."

"Like I'd want to talk to that traitorous git," Ron said, only half joking.

"Ron."

"Okay, okay. I just don't think it's a good idea to mention my name."

"Yes you said that. But why?"

"Well," Ron thought a moment. "If you give 'em my name, there'll be reporters swarming the Burrow. Especially if they find out you and Harry are staying there too. And the last thing my family needs right now is a bunch of reporters doing hanging around all the time hoping to get a picture of Harry."

"Oh. That makes sense." And it did. Hermione had been sure Ron was making something up on the spot to hide his true reason, but what he'd said sounded reasonable and well thought out. She still thought he was hiding something, but she wasn't about to call him a liar and accuse him of not putting his family first. "We'll come find you after we're finished, all right?"

Ron nodded. "Just find me on the map."

She smiled and stood up on her toes to peck Ron on the lips, reveling in how natural it felt to do so. "Bye," she said, running to catch up with Harry.

"Harry, I know what Kinsley said about not having to answer any question we don't want to, but we need to be careful."

"I know Hermione."

"It's just that they might use our silence on a matter as a reason to lend credence to any rumors all ready floating about."

"I know that Hermione."

"I mean they obviously won't ask about horcuxes," she continued, her voice dropping as she mentioned them, "so I don't think we'll have to worry about questions of that nature, but we need to be careful not to mention that we broke into Gringotts and the Ministry to steal the cup and locket. Because that might be enough for them to infer something."

"Hermione I think I get it."

"And we probably—"

"I know Hermione. I get it okay."

Hermione looked put out and Harry apologized. "Sorry, you were rambling."

"Well this is rather important—" she stopped immediately, silenced by the look Harry shot her.

"Look, anything too delicate and I'll keep quiet and just let you answer. How's that?"

"Oh thanks," Hermione said wryly.

"Well you know what Ron says. 'Want something done right? Get Hermione to do it.'"

While she probably would've smacked Ron for saying such a thing to her face, Hermione could only try and avoid Harry's eye as she felt her face heat up at the backhanded compliment.

The pair finally met Kingsley in the entrance hall and followed him outside. Neither one was prepared for what they found. While Xenophilius Lovegood was indeed there, looking much more cheerful than the last time they'd seen him, he was not alone. Nearly thirty witches and wizards from dozens of different papers and magazines surrounded him, all of them looking anxious to finally here the Chosen One speak about his victory over the Dark Lord. While Hermione was nervous, her anxiety melted into determined anger when one face caught her eye.

"No. Absolutely not. I will not be taking part in any interview involving her," she cried indignantly. The 'her' she referred to was Rita Skeeter.

"Is that any way to treat an old friend, Dearie?" asked Skeeter.

"You're most definitely not my friend."

"Even after the favor I did you—"

"You only did that because I was blackmailing you!"

Kingsley's eyes widened a bit at this, looking incredulous. Harry hastily spoke up. "She's joking. Just joking," he repeated, to both Kingsley and the reporters that were beginning to resemble a pack of frenzied sharks more than a flock of waiting vultures. He leaned his face close to Hermione's. "What happened to being careful with what we said," he whispered. After this Hermione shut her mouth, but her face remained scrunched up in obvious rage.

"How's this: for the sake of our friendship," Rita emphasized this last while tossing Hermione a wink than incensed her even further, "I'll promise to keep quiet."

Harry spoke up preemptively. "You'll just stand there?" he asked doubtfully.

"Well I'm be taking note of everything with my quill of course. But yes, I'll let others ask the questions."

Harry and Kingsley looked to Hermione for her approval and reluctantly she agreed.

And so it began.

Mostly the press conference went as expected. Harry and Hermione explained that they'd been on the run since Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding, hiding out as they worked out a plan to defeat Voldemort, returning to Hogwarts to draw him out for the final confrontation in a location they believed advantageous and where they knew they'd find allies. Harry explained about their capture and short imprisonment at Malfoy Manor—emphasizing how it had been his fault for saying Voldemort's name, and leaving out any mention of Hermione's torture. They mentioned their run-in at Godric's Hollow and Hermione explained their break-in of the Ministry as an intelligence gathering mission turned rescue attempt of the muggle-borns they found there. Mr. Lovegood looked appropriately guilty when they brought up their visit to his house and they both made it clear they didn't hold a gruge against him. And Harry finally shared his journey into the Forbidden Forest and subsequent duel with Voldemort, leaving out any mention of the Elder Wand or the fact that he'd survived the killing curse yet again.

There was no mention of Ron leaving them during their journey. Actually, per his request, there was no mention of Ron whatsoever. Hermione saw how much this bothered Harry, especially as the reporters' comments turned more and more praiseworthy, lavishing the pair with kudos for surviving six separate encounters with Voldemort's servants. They wanted details of every skirmish they'd had in the past year, and unfortunately they couldn't help but exaggerate their own prowess during the fights. After all, they had to account for Ron's help. It made Hermione equally uncomfortable, but what could she say without breaking her word to Ron?

At one point, Harry spoke up after the crowd collectively shuddered at Voldemort's name for the umpteenth time.

"I have a request. I think we need to stop all the 'He Who Must Not Be Named' and 'You Know Who' business. There's no sense in fearing a word, especially when it's the name of a dead man." Harry stated this with such conviction that Hermione felt herself well up with pride for her friend. She'd hated having to refrain from saying his name because of the taboo after spending years working up the will to call him Voldemort, and believed everyone should do the same.

Someone called out from the back. "Easy for you to say. Not all of us are powerful enough to face him and win, you know."

"And you're muggle born. You may've suffered at his hand, but you didn't grow up hearing the stories about everything he'd done," another voice shouted.

"Look. Voldemort was a lot like me. He grew up unaware of magic or that he was a wizard."

Hermione didn't think it was the best idea for Harry to express another link between himself and Voldemort, but agreed it was necessary to get his point across.

"I understand," Harry continued, "the things associated with the name Voldemort, but if we are to move past all of this, we need to realize that he's gone and there's no reason to be afraid of him anymore, let alone his name."

"Perhaps we could find a compromise," Hermione suggested, finally speaking up. The eyes of the crowd and Harry turned toward her. "I was just thinking…Dumbledore always referred to Voldemort as Tom. And you yourself called him Tom during the battle Harry. So maybe we could refer to him by his given name. There's no stigma attached to it because most people didn't even know they were the same person."

"And he would've hated it," she heard Harry mutter quietly, smiling broadly. "I think it's brilliant, Hermione. Let's call him Riddle," he announced with a certain finality.

After that the questions began to die down and a woman who had yet to speak up raised her hand and Harry called on her.

"Seeing as the two of you have been linked together romantically in the past, would you mind sharing whether all of the time the two of you spent alone together led to the resurfacing of those old feelings?"

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. This was an entirely different line of questioning that those proceeding it, and one she'd been sure they wouldn't have to deal with after Rita agreed to shut up.

"Of course not," Harry said. "Me and Hermione have never been together. We're friends. Just friends. And I don't see that changing anytime soon."

"But you did break up with a Miss Ginerva Weasley before setting off on your little camping trip with Ms. Granger, correct?"

Unfortunately Harry could do nothing but answer to the affirmative. This woman was good, and had done her homework. And Hermione hated her for it.

"And you expect us to believe that it had nothing to do with the fact that you were about to spend nine months alone with another woman?"

"It was for her safety," Harry protested feebly. "I didn't want her becoming a target for Riddle if he found out about her."

"But if he had found out—a distinct possibility considering how easily I managed the same task—there would've been the chance that he would go after her anyway."

"I suppose," Harry said, floundering.

"And if that had happened, your actions would have only left her defenseless. In fact, based on conversations with your classmates, it was not even common knowledge the two of you had split up. But instead, you brought Miss Granger with you, ensuring that you could watch over her and protect her."

To this, Harry had no answer. It wasn't surprising. Hermione had never really agreed with Harry's plan to break up with Ginny in the first place, but went along with it for the sake of practicality. Since she had been underage and still had the trace on her, any situation that forced her to use magic would've instantly revealed them to the Ministry. She had to do something. Something that would shut the door on these types of questions. Something desperate.

"I wouldn't be interested in Harry in that way if he was the last wizard alive. I find him physically repulsive. He's like my brother," she exclaimed, adding the last bit in an attempt to softer her necessarily harsh words.

"But he isn't your brother."

Hermione huffed. This woman was relentless. "Obviously."

"Well even if you wouldn't be attracted to Mr. Potter under normal circumstances, it's still possible that something could've happened by accident simply because he was your only company for months on end—and that's without bringing up any out of control teenage hormones."

You just brought it up, Hermione thought bitterly. "Look, nothing could've happened because Harry and I didn't spend those months alone together." She felt Harry grip her shoulder, muttering words of caution, but she shrugged him off. "We were accompanied by our friend Ron Weasley as well."

As she said this, she caught something like a gleam of victory in Skeeter's eye. The woman who had been asking the questions looked even more jubilant and pounced.

"So why have you both failed to mention him before now?"

"Out of respect for his wishes," Hermione retorted none too politely.

"And this Ron Weasley is related to Ms. Ginerva Weasley?"

"He's her brother, yes."

"And perhaps he was the reason Ms. Weasley did not return to Hogwarts at the end of the Easter Hols?"

Now Hermione was beginning to put things together. This woman had known everything from the start. Well, perhaps not everything, but certainly more than she let on. Her questions had been leading this direction all along.

"Yes. Ron and Ginny's family was heavily involved in the resistance and had to go into hiding once the three of us were capture and taken to Malfoy Manor. Once Riddle knew Ron was helping me, they couldn't deny which side they were on," answered Harry.

"And was he merely brought for a little extra company? Or perhaps simply for his safety? Did he not assist either of you during your journey?"

"Of course he did," both harry and Hermione responded.

"They why have you both made it out like it was only the two of you that defeated He Who…Tom Riddle? Why have you tried to take all the credit?"

"We weren't. We told you it was at his request that we didn't mention him."

"And how do we know you aren't lying about that as well, since this interview has made it clear you're obviously willing to stretch the truth? Perhaps if we could speak to him as well—"

"No!" Hermione disputed. "Absolutely not."

"I think this line of questioning is over," said Kingsley, finally speaking up in an attempt to reign control of the conversation back to their side.

"Just one more question, for the both of them, Auror Shacklebolt." Reluctantly the three of them nodded. Anything to get this over with. Not that they could really do much more damage. "Are you both currently single?"

Hermione could almost hear Harry gulp beside her. "No comment," he said thickly and Hermione groaned. Didn't he know that was as good an answer as a straight 'no'?

"And Ms. Granger?"

She waited a moment, wondering if she would come to regret her answer. "Yes. I am single." Immediately she turned and stalked back toward the castle to find Ron before word spread. She was certain he was going to be furious when he found out she had mentioned his name despite his request.

Harry caught her a second later. "Well that didn't go too badly," he joked feebly. Hermione glared at him.

"She was worse than Rita ever was!"

"Hermione, I'm pretty sure she was working for Rita. They probably worked a plan out beforehand, knowing we'd never talk to her because of how much we dislike her."

Hermione thought 'dislike' wasn't nearly a strong enough word to cover her feelings on Rita Skeeter. She felt like an idiot. Of course Rita had been prepared. She'd given up far too easily in agreeing to stay quiet. Needing to vent her frustration, she turned on Harry as they walked. "Oh Harry. Why didn't you just tell them you were seeing Ginny? Because of your comment they're going to go digging around anyway."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Well, it's not like we ever officially got back together. And I…well I didn't feel right speaking up for her." This brought a smile to Hermione's face. The boy was finally learning, even if his comment probably would cause something of a mess. "Anyway, forget about me. What about what you said?"

"Oh Harry, you know I don't find you repulsive. I was just trying to shut them up."

"Cheers, Hermione," he said, grinning back at her. "But I was talking about that last bit. About you being single."

Hermione grew flustered. "Well…well…it's the same thing as you and Ginny. It's not like Ron and I are…official…or anything." She suddenly felt her vocabulary was rather lacking.

"So I just imagined the two of you groping one another outside the Room of Requirement?"

"I would hardly describe that one kiss as us 'groping one another.'"

"And I couldn't help but notice Ron never joined me in the dorm last night either," Harry continued, ignoring her comment.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"And I'm pretty sure I saw you holding hands when we were up in McGonagall's office."

"I was just keeping him from interrupting you."

"Look, Hermione. I just want to know if you both have finally straightened everything out, or if you really meant that single comment. Because I know people are going to be asking me questions."

"Why would they ask you?"

"You really think they'd ask you about it? No offense, but you can be a bit scary Hermione. Especially when it comes to you and Ron."

"Harry!" He'd never been so blunt before, not even in sixth year, though she supposed that seeing the two of them kiss for the first time right in front of him had changed the implied rules the three of them had made over the years not to speak on such things.

"Look, if I'm going to be your press agent, the least you could do is help me get the story straight. I mean I already had to tell Krum something at the wedding last summer."

"He asked?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," she said, trying to sound surprised. Actually, she'd guessed that, and suddenly felt grateful for whatever Harry had told him since it may have kept him from interrupting her dance with Ron.

"And of course everybody at school was asking."

"What?" Hermione really needed to learn to control her surprise better.

"Since fourth year there's been talk, even before the ball and everything. And then after the whole Lavender mess…" he explained reluctantly, clearly still uncomfortable with the subject.

Actually, Hermione knew the talk had started third year, after the first Hogsmeade weekend when she and Ron had gone together without Harry. Thanks to Parvati and Lavender. At least Harry hadn't cottoned on until the following year, which probably meant the same for the rest of the boys in their year. Including Ron, she remembered rather bitterly.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what do you want me to say?"

She didn't know. Well that's not true. She knew exactly what she wanted Harry to tell people: that she and Ron were together, that they were boyfriend and girlfriend, that they loved each other. But she couldn't say that. How could she talk to Harry about her relationship when she and Ron hadn't even talked about it? In so many ways, talking felt like a formality, the same way their first kiss, as amazing as it had been, had felt like a formality. They'd really just started, but at the same time, their relationship was years old, and everything that happened now between them was more a game of catch-up, an attempt to make up for lost time.

But what a wonderful game it was. And she realized she didn't really mind that she and Ron hadn't talked about _them _yet_._ For all the words they'd spoken—often at the top of their lungs—to each other over the years, their best, most honest conversations had never required any words. And then she realized she didn't really care what people thought or knew about them. It wasn't about them in the slightest. As long as she—and Ron—knew, everything was all right. And she was even more resolved to find him.

"You may say whatever you like."

"Hermione—"

But she ignored his questioning tone and didn't speak another word except to ask to see the Marauder's Map as they made their way through the castle and toward Ron, wherever he was. What was the point? What could she tell Harry? Whatever words he came up with, whatever words she or anyone else could find to try and explain the thing between them, they could only ever cover part of the truth. What they shared was beyond words, beyond understanding. And Hermione was all right with not having all the answers for once. Better than all right actually. Much better.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The chapter's title comes from the song "Brand-New-Life" by Young Marble Giants off their album _Colossal Youth_.

This chapter turned out longer than expected. Partially because I hadn't originally planned on including all the stuff with the reporters and partially because we spent a third of it in Hermione's head. What can I say, the girl thinks a lot.

And I know I cut out the entire discussion about the horcrux hunt with Kingsley and McGonagall, but we all ready know this story from the books and I didn't want to bore you with it again. Plus Harry, Ron and Hermione end up sharing that story three or four times during my fic, so we might still hear them talk about it a little in another chapter.

Anybody else like Hermione having to remind herself that she's a 'girl' just like Ron needed back in fourth year? Although I suppose it's really more about remembering that she's still a kid and allowing herself to shed the need to be an adult with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

I like to think that all three members of the trio really grew up by the end of the series: Hermione in _OotP_, Harry in _HBP_ and Ron in _DH_. However Hermione was kinda always a mini adult, and I think there's a need for her to get a second dose of childhood and adolescence (same for Harry to a lesser extent) which will play a part in her story. Ron had his time to be immature so his storyline will be more concerned with carrying forward with his newfound sense of responsibility and self-value and finally living up to his potential.

For those of you waiting to see this story earn its M-rating, the smut's not starting until chapter six unfortunately. I'm a big fan of the stuff, believe me, but if you're just looking for pwp, one-shots are the way to go. It'll always be secondary in this story, though I am doing my best to throw in a little more than what's absolutely necessary for those of you who like that sort of thing. As far as language, I don't even remember if I have any of the characters throwing out f-bombs or not. I'll make sure to throw a few hundred into Ron's speech. Okay, not really, but I will try and make his speech more in-character. I just forget sometimes since I stopped cursing a few years back.

Lastly, expect the next chapter to be up Sunday or Monday at the latest. It's pretty much finished since I forgot about the 'non-chronological' order of my story and started writing it before I remembered THIS was supposed to be chapter two.


	4. CH3: Constantly On Trial

**Closer  
><strong>

**Chapter 3: Constantly On Trial**

_August 1st, 1998_

As Ron sat there on the Granger's chair that wasn't nearly as comfortable as it looked, he reminded himself that things could have turned out far worse. True, he was experiencing the same strange mix of nausea, boredom and anxiety he always felt in Snape's potions classes. And yes, he was actually wishing for more of those awful asparagus snacks if for no other reason than to have something to occupy his mouth and attention. But at least there had been no shouting matches or canary attacks, and the only tears shed had come from Mrs. Granger.

At first, they'd just stood there, taking in the sight of one another; her face a bit red from the cold, her jaw clenched, her nostrils flared, her lips thin. For a moment, Ron actually thought she might start shouting at him, blaming him for, well, everything he supposed. That's what she always did, and he felt himself growing more and more indignant with her. So what if he deserved her abuse most of the time? This was different. It hadn't been his fault. What right did she have to be angry with him?

But then Hermione took a breath, opened her mouth and told him how good it was to see him and asked how he had been. He'd been prepared for a row, or for Hermione to ignore him completely. But this, Ron hadn't been expecting, so he simply stood gaping at her as somewhere a clocked ticked off the seconds at an agonizingly slow pace until, finally, Ginny had answered for all of them. And just like that, the awkward moment was over. Well, Ron had continued standing there for some time, even after everyone else had retaken their seats and resumed their small talk. Ginny had eventually trodden on his foot and he sat down. He took no part in the conversation though—that single 'hey' having robbed him of all further speech—that drifted further and further into the mundane until finally Hermione came right out and asked what was wrong. Harry tried to catch Ron's eye then exchanged a look with Ginny before asking why Hermione assumed something was wrong. Seemingly both amused and exasperated, Hermione pointed out that they would have needed the Ministry's help in finding her, and they would never go to such lengths unless they were desperate. Harry had smiled and Ginny shook her head, but both were reluctant to speak until Hermione explained that she had told her parents everything that had happened since she modified their memories, and insisted they speak openly for the sake of full disclosure and honesty about why they were there. Ron had snorted both at Hermione's request for full disclosure and her seeming lack of faith in their abilities to find her without help, but managed to cover it up with a coughing fit when half the eyes in the room turned on him.

In the end, Harry had done almost all of the talking, briefly summarizing the charges he and Ron were facing then carefully detailing Hermione's own charges before finally mentioning the trouble they were all facing from the goblins. Ginny spoke up a few times to remind Harry of details he'd forgotten in his nervousness to explain to the Grangers that their daughter was facing even more trouble thanks to him, and that he wasn't done asking for her help. Hermione remained uncharacteristically silent and passive outside of a single 'Oh, Harry' that escaped her lips when he told her about the trouble he faced over his use of the two Unforgivable Curses and a great many consolatory 'It'll be all right Mum' uttered each time Mrs. Granger broke out in tears. For his part, Mr. Granger only spoke up after Harry had finished, offering to testify on Hermione's behalf. Sadly, Ginny informed him that as a muggle, he would not be permitted to attend the trial.

Through it all, Ron's insides were churning. He wondered how Harry and Ginny could share their information without first demanding to know why they'd only received a single scrap of news from Hermione since she'd left them, why she had been out so late, and how she could be such a hypocrite and demand honesty from her 'friends' when he knew her to be a bastion of secrets. Ron certainly wanted to know these things. But more than that, he wanted to stop looking at her. He didn't want to be caught staring, but nor did he want it to seem like he was avoiding her gaze. In the end, he settled for staring at her left ear—or rather at the bushy curls that hid her left ear—his eyes wandering only occasionally to hers. But, infuriatingly, she never caught his eye, not even when Harry mentioned Ron's Apparition charges. Of course, she was more concerned over Harry's troubles than his own. What else had he expected?

By the time they'd finished, it was half passed one, and the Grangers asked them to spend the night, offering Ron and Harry the guest bedroom while Hermione told Ginny she could bunk in with her since her bed was more than big enough for two. Ron grimaced at this, remembering Hermione's last night at the Burrow when she'd snuck into his room after everyone else had gone to sleep, and shook his head to clear the thought away.

Like a zombie, Ron followed Mr. Granger as he showed them to the guest room and pointed out the loo before retiring for the night. The boys changed into their pajamas in silence, though Ron caught a number of worrying looks from Harry before they both trooped off to the loo which was already occupied by Ginny. After a few minutes she emerged, kissed Harry on the cheek and punched Ron for groaning at the sight before heading to Hermione's room as Harry slipped in and shut the door behind him. Ron stood around, shifting his weight nervously wishing Harry would hurry up.

"Hi," came a soft voice from behind. Ron jumped and turned around to see Hermione, her expression soft. Ron's lips remained glued shut so she continued, repeating her words from earlier. "It's good to see you. How've you been?"

"M'alright," Ron managed to get out after un-sticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"I'm glad. You look well."

"You too."

Her cheeks colored slightly at his simple words. "Thanks."

He didn't know what to do. He knew what he wanted to say, wanted to ask, but he'd come to a decision a month ago, and would stick to it. So instead, he decided to be polite. "So things have been okay here? With your parents I mean."

"Oh. Yes. Obviously they weren't very happy when I first undid the charms, but I sat them down and explained everything. About Harry and the horcruxes and everything else I've kept from them over the years."

Ron tried to imagine what that had been like for Hermione's parents. They'd known things in the wizarding world were bad and were getting worse, but he knew Hermione had kept quiet on the dangers they'd faced in school and her own involvement in the war, at least since she'd been petrified during second year.

"How'd they take it?"

"Well Mum cried through the whole thing. And I haven't seen Daddy that angry since I came home my teeth shrunk at the end of fourth year. But with Riddle gone and the war over, I think they realized there wasn't much sense in getting upset over the past, especially since I came out of everything all right."

Ron didn't quite believe her but didn't question her either. "That's good," he offered lamely. What was he supposed to say? She was just standing there looking at him like everything was normal, when he was feeling completely awkward. The discomfort he was feeling due to her presence was matched only by the conversation they'd had the morning after the Yule Ball and during Hermione's first visit to see him in the hospital wing after he regained consciousness sixth year. Thankfully, Harry finished and joined them in the hallway, saving Ron. After giving Harry a hug and wishing him goodnight, Hermione traipsed into the loo.

Harry looked at him when the door shut, his eyes asking whether Ron wanted him to wait there with him. Despite the temptation to take Harry up on the offer, Ron only glared back, prompting his friend to shrug and offer a supportive grin that looked more like a grimace before heading back to their room.

Ron stood facing the door, half wishing she'd hurry the bloody hell up and half wishing she'd stay in there forever. He was so preoccupied doing his best not to think about what could possibly be taking Hermione so long in the loo or about what kind of goodnight he'd be receiving, that he almost didn't notice her return to the hall.

"All yours," she told him, that same smile back on her face. She looked so much like the girl he had known for seven years, the girl he had watched a thousand times as she sat entranced by a book, absentmindedly scratching Crookshanks's ears while he sat on the arm of her chain in the common room. This thought surprised him. Surely he didn't know he as well as he'd thought. Her actions the past few months proved this. And he supposed he'd expected her appearance to reflect these new developments, but she was exactly the same as when she'd left, besides the weight she'd managed to gain back after their year on the run.

"Thanks," he said, trying to slide past her even though she was still blocking most of the door.

"Listen, Ron. I—"

Before she had a chance to continue, Ron had pulled her to him in a friendly hug. It was one of the last things he wanted to do, but figured it was better than another attempt at uncomfortable conversation. It was late—well for Hermione it was late—and he knew she probably wasn't prepared to talk about anything, having been surprised to find him in her sitting room. For her part, Hermione either didn't notice or didn't care about the awkwardness of the embrace or the way he held her rather loosely because she quickly reciprocated, her hold on him lingering for a few seconds even after he'd let go. Ron offered a small goodnight which she returned, then stepped into the loo and closed the door, doing his best not to slam it in her face.

He didn't sleep well that night. Ron would've liked to have attributed it to the change in time-zones or to the fact that he had to share the bed with Harry—who apparently had no trouble adjusting—but he couldn't fool himself. Eventually he gave up, taking a book out from his pack and flicking through it without absorbing any of the words on the pages until Ginny came to wake them at eight-thirty.

* * *

><p><em>August 2nd, 1998<em>

The Grangers headed to work at quarter past nine, leaving the four of them to finish their breakfast and clean up. Hermione did most of the talking, with Ginny asking questions about life in Australia with her parents. Thankfully Hermione didn't ask the three of them many questions, letting them volunteer information about how things were going at home.

Arnie showed up shortly after ten with another man whom Ron presumed correctly to be his partner Gibbons. Hermione fixed tea for everyone and they discussed what the plan going forward was. Arnie left after just a half hour to set up a return portkey for noon. Ron was thankful to see him go, having noticed the way he practically leered at Hermione, reminding him very much of Cormac McLaggen. In the end it was decided that Hermione would remain in Australia for a few days before joining them at the Burrow to prepare for the trials. She also wrote out a list of books on Magical Law for them to look through in the meantime, suggesting they write to Professor McGonagall if they had trouble tracking them down. She also said she'd get her hands on some books from the Public Magical Library there in Perth. She emphasized that they should focus on Harry's case first and foremost, adding that it would be the most difficult to prepare since there was very little precedent.

Finally Arnie returned and it was time to leave. They gathered their bags and prepared to be Side-Alonged by the two Australia Aurors. They took it in turns to hug Hermione goodbye as she promised to see them soon. Ron was once again last and despite his apprehension, found it much more comfortable and familiar than their embrace the night before. At least until she kissed him on the cheek as they separated and felt himself blushing in spite of himself while Ginny sniggered. With two quiet pops, the five of them Disapparated, finding themselves on a small, deserted beach. Gibbons lead them to an old tire half-buried in the sand and at the appropriate moment, the three of them grabbed it and were whisked away back to England.

They weren't really sure where they ended up considering that it was four o'clock in the morning and quite dark, but it didn't matter. They simply Apparated to the borders of the Burrow and made their way through the gate and across the field. Despite the early hour they found Mr. Weasley waiting for them. Thankfully, Ron had mentioned in his note that Kingsley could explain the situation and his father had made sure to understand the full details of their disappearances and the coming trials. He'd even brought home a number of books he thought might be helpful to them. Surprising the only reprimand he gave them concerned the fact that the patronus Kingsley sent informing him of their arrival time had found Mr. Weasley in bed and disturbed Ron and Ginny's mother.

Harry and Ginny set to work right away, skimming through the books and sending off a letter with Pig to McGonagall asking for the books and explaining why they needed them. Ron, who was finally feeling the exhaustion of having been awake for nearly a day straight and taking two portkeys across the world and back, wanted nothing more than to climb upstairs and into his bed. As that wasn't an option, he struggled through the morning, fixing breakfast for everyone per usual and even doing a few loads of laundry in an attempt to make his leaving up to Percy. Thankfully it was Sunday, and he managed to sneak off four a few hours rest before returning to help the other two look through the books.

Tim seemed to behave rather strangely to Ron over the next few days. Each hour seemed to last forever as they poured over legal texts, but when he crawled into bed each night he couldn't remember actually accomplishing anything that day. Their trials were set for Friday the seventh. Harry had commented on how strange it was for the ministry to inform them so far ahead of time of their trials, since the last time he'd been in trouble with the Ministry they'd called him in the very next day. Ron sagely commented that Kingsley had said they wanted Harry to get off, so they probably wanted to give them time to prepare a defense.

McGonagall sent the books they'd requested the next day and Harry and Ron spent every waking moment trying to decipher them, assisted by Mr. Weasley, Percy and even Bill as often as possible. Ginny, who had given up on actually reading any of the books, helped keep track of anything useful the others could find, and made sure they all took breaks to eat and play exploding snap or go flying when Harry and Ron grew irritable.

Hermione arrived on Wednesday morning, bunking in with Ginny as usual. Thankfully, Ron was so busy between preparing for the trial and trying to keep everyone fed and watered that he managed to avoid any alone time with Hermione, though he did end up skipping out on washing before bed a few nights just to avoid any more late-night encounters. And for her part, she didn't seem eager to seek him out one-on-one.

He expected with Hermione there, they'd make a great deal more progress, but she was at as much of a loss as the rest of them when it came to Harry's case. She did tell them she'd fully prepared her own defense, saying she'd all ready taken care of everything when Mr. Weasley offered to assist her. In the end, Ron had just told Harry that they'd have to wing it and hope for the best, per usual.

When the fateful day arrived, Ron found himself Apparating to the Ministry accompanied by Hermione, Harry, Bill, Percy and his dad, all of them looking very well dressed and groomed. Fleur had stayed at the Burrow in case Mrs. Weasley needed looking after and seeing as Ginny was still not of age, she wasn't permitted to attend the trial. But she had wished them all luck and optimistically informed them that she'd do her best to prepare a party while they were gone to celebrate the clearing of their names. Ron's mother had even made a rare appearance outside her bedroom to see them off, looking a bit like her old self as she fussed over Harry's hair and Ron's tie. George however just stayed shut up in his room, which wasn't surprising seeing he never got up before two o'clock these days.

When they arrived Harry voiced his surprise to Mr. Weasley that there were no reporters present to cover the trials, reminding Ron that he couldn't even remember seeing anything about the trials in the papers.

"Well Kingsley's made sure to keep everything very quiet. It's like he said, everyone wants the three of you to be cleared, so there's no point in informing the media unless something goes wrong. Of course, all the proceedings will have to go down on record and be made available to the public. But if we don't give them a reason to go looking for them, there's a good chance none of this will ever get out."

Ron, who usually appreciated his father's spirit, thought that was a rather optimistic point of view, especially considering that they still did not know how the Ministry had found out about Hermione modifying her parents' memories, but decided to keep that to himself considering how nervous everyone else appeared.

Once inside, Mr. Weasley separated from them, making them promise to find him the moment the trials were over. Percy, as Undersecretary to the Minister, would of course be present at the hearings, but had to leave to meet with Kingsley first. So the three of them—accompanied by Bill who had taken the day off to offer moral support—made their way down to Courtroom Three to wait. Ron wanted to believe that would be the worst part, the waiting. He vaguely remembered back at Hogwarts Hermione quoting some muggle who said anticipation was always worse than the actual thing you were dreading or some such nonsense and she usually knew what she was talking about. He certainly felt like he'd been waiting since Kingsley had shown up at the Burrow and told them about the trial. Actually he felt like he'd been waiting for something terrible to happen for months. Not that everything was perfect these days, but usually it felt like things were moving the right direction. So he tried to keep Hermione's words in mind as he paced up and down the hallway, Hermione going over her notes, Harry sitting calmly with his eyes closed, and Bill just standing there trying to appear nonchalant for all their sakes. But the more Ron thought, the more he realized Hermione's words just didn't cover it. He remembered how the torture he'd endured in the run-up to his first quidditch game had been nothing compared to the agony he experienced that day on the pitch. He recalled dreading the Yule Ball from the moment it was announced, but recalled more sharply how it had still turned out to be the worst night of his life up until that point. And no matter how many times he had thought about the final fight with Riddle and pictured the worst possibilities, the reality of Fred's death had made all expectation of pain seem like a paper cut in comparison.

But this was different he thought, or maybe just hoped. It was just like getting in trouble at Hogwarts or with his mum and he really wasn't in that much trouble to begin with. And Harry would be fine. He always got away with stuff like this, he thought without a trace of bitterness. And Hermione, well…she could take care of herself. Hadn't she been doing that for months now?

Finally it was time and they filed into the chamber to find the Wizengamot fully present, the room empty of other observers. Bill motioned for them to follow him into a row and take their seats until their names were called. Ron sat next to him and Hermione took the seat to his right. In spite of the discomfort of having her so close, he was a bit thankful to be distracted. They hadn't been this close since she'd come to the Burrow. During mealtimes, Ron had always been the one doing the cooking and never sat down to eat until everyone else had finished and moved away, and the rest of the time she'd surrounded herself with so many books that it'd been impossible for anyone to get within ten feet of her. But now she was just inches away, and if he placed his hand on the bench next to him, he knew his fingers would brush against her thigh, covered by a long, tan skirt. As soon as the thought entered his head, it wall all he could think about. So when Hermione suddenly reached over to pinch his own leg, he jumped, wondering if she'd learned Legilimancy in her time away. But when she pinched him again, he looked her in the face and saw she was looking at Harry who had taken a seat a few rows away from them as if he didn't want the rest of them tainted by his guilt.

Ron was wondering how inappropriate it would be to shout out to Harry, call him a git and tell him to join them when a middle aged witch stood and called his name and asked him to come to the floor. As he stood, Bill whispered "good luck" and Hermione briefly patted his hand and told him to just relax.

Ron took the sole seat on the floor, feeling he couldn't be more exposed if he'd gone to the Yule Ball naked like his mum had once joked. The witch began reading off a list of information and procedures, occasionally asking him a question to which he only had to respond 'yes' or 'no.' He actually managed to relax a bit the further they got into the trial. It was all going exactly as Hermione had said it would and he simply had to repeat the answers in the correct order his dad had drilled into him and Harry over the past week. And after what seemed like a remarkably short time, he was being told that he was to pay a fine of twenty-five galleons by the end of the month and if he could please vacate his seat so that Harry Potter could take his place.

When he sat back down between Bill and Hermione, neither of them said anything in congratulations, not that he'd expected them to. His was by far the most cut-and-dried case. But he still couldn't help but feel like it was a good start and hopefully a sign of things to come. Harry was next and the line of questioning started off the same. As the witch talked, Ron distracted himself by looking at their jury a little closer. He recognized a few of the faces. Kingsley was there of course, and Percy who, when he noticed Ron looking at him, gave him a very Fred-styled wink which was as disturbing as it was comforting. He continued his scrutiny of the crowd. Mostly they were all middle aged witches and wizards, with a few old fossils scattered throughout who seemed more focused on trying to stay awake than the proceedings of the trial. There was only one other member even close to Percy in age, a tall, blonde wizard who strongly reminded Ron of Cedric Diggory.

At last they'd given Harry his Apparition fine and had moved on to his use of the Unfogivable Curses. This time, the witch launched into a long discourse about the nature and history of such dark magic and its use against other human beings during which Harry remained completely silent until she finished and simply asked if he had anything to say for himself.

In all of their research, the only pertinent information they'd—and by 'they,' he of course meant Hermione—found had been during the first war against Riddle, when Barty Crouch had been the head of Magical Law Enforcement and had legalized the use of Unforgivables against known Death Eaters and other Voldemort supporters. When Hermione had first pointed this out, Ron had been zealous in his celebration, jubilant in how similar the situations were, and told Harry that he would have no problem getting off. Hermione however had argued this point, reminding them of how negatively Crouch and his policies had been viewed as time went on, and cautioned Harry against purposely associating himself with such a man. Harry had merely nodded as they discussed both sides, never voicing his own opinion, and Ron was curious to hear what he would say now that he was facing the jury.

Harry took a very deep breath and spoke, his voice carring all the authority and confidence of a man in the running for the next Minister of Magic, and Ron had to marvel at the man his eleven-year-old dorm mate had become. "I used the Imperius Curse during a break-in to Gringott's in May willing and fully aware of what I was doing. That spell saved my life as well as those of my friends and was completely necessary to accomplish our mission that day and directly led to the defeat of Tom Riddle the following day. There was a time under similar circumstances when this Ministry permitted the use of these curses, and I did what I had to do. I didn't regret it at the time, and I still don't. If I hadn't, we would not be sitting here talking today. In fact, we'd probably all be dead."

Ron let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was amazed that Harry had taken his side over Hermione's about mentioning Crouch's past rulings, and was rather proud that Harry was throwing a little bit of guilt back at the Ministry. It was after all their fault that things had gotten as bad as they did in the first place when Fudge and Scrimgeour had been in-charge, and Ron knew most of the current Wizengamot were holdovers from those days.

"But," Harry continued, causing Ron another sharp intake of air, "my use of the Cruciatus Curse during the fighting at Hogwarts just hours later was not called for and I do deeply regret it." Ron groaned as the quiet courtroom suddenly grew rather noisy as the Wizengamot members muttered to one another. Clearly Harry still had his guilty conscience and need to be all noble, the prat.

"Could you tell us why exactly you performed the curse, Mr. Potter? From what I understand, you are about to become an Auror, and I would be remiss not to express concern that there is the possibility you will find yourself under similar circumstances in the future and repeat your mistakes."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but a cool voice rang out from the floor as the only witch more frightening than his mother strode forward. "I do believe I could answer that, if I may?" said Professor McGonagall, coming to stand beside Harry.

For a brief moment, Ron wondered what she was doing there, before remembering Harry's retelling of his encounter with the Carrows in Ravenclaw tower and that she'd been informed of the trial when they'd written her for the legal texts Hermione had suggested. He turned, intending to ask if Hermione had planned this all along, but she appeared as surprised as he was at the new Headmistress's appearance.

When no one objected, McGonagall spoke. "Harry Potter has gone through more in the last year than anyone in this courtroom could possibly imagine, which is to say nothing of the seventeen years he experienced leading up to it. And despite the fact that he is a fully certified wizard and was of-age at the time of his offense, I believe we can all agree that he was under more duress than any boy should be. So when I was about to be attacked, Mr. Potter acted in my defense with the first spell that came to his head, which naturally was an Unforgivable Curse seeing as it is exactly what Alecto Carrow himself was about to perform. It should also be noted that Mr. Potter did not even perform the curse correctly, and instead its effects simply mirrored those of a strong stunning spell, though there may have been a bit more pain involved. He did not use it for prolonged torture as the curse was intended."

She drew a breath and flicked her sharp gaze across each Wizengamot member in turn and Ron couldn't help but take pleasure in seeing several of them wilt under her gaze as if they were first years. "And if this court seriously intends to punish Mr. Potter for this single minor transgression in light of all that he has done for the wizarding world, then I must request that I too be punished as I too performed an Unforgivable Curse that evening under even less appropriate circumstances. However, since we all know that you intend to do no such thing, I think it best we settle this matter as quickly as possible so as not to waste any more of Mr. Potter's time."

There was silence. "Uh, right," said the witch conducting the trial, clearly unsettled. She turned and conversed with Kingsley and another, balding wizard. "Then, the court motions that all charges against Mr. Potter be dropped immediately. However, we move that Mr. Potter be put on probation for the next five years. Should he repeat his offense in that time, this court will not hesitate to exact a more severe punishment. All in favor?"

The vote was unanimous, and several members even looked as though they were barely holding back their own roars of approval and offerings of congratulations. Bill, Ron, and Hermione who held no reservations, stood and cheered, and Harry turned to look at them and smiled. He stood and thanked McGonagall. As they spoke, Ron clapped and whistled, wondering why he'd ever been worried. Finally things settled down and Harry was dismissed. As Hermione stood to take his place, he sat down next to Ron who gave his friend what he hoped was a very manly one-armed hug.

The moment Hermione's hearing began, Ron felt his stomach twist into knots. He really couldn't imagine her getting into any sort of trouble when Harry had practically gotten off Scott-free for something as terrible as the Cruciatus, but something still didn't sit right as the witch spoke to Hermione. Clearly they knew very little about what they were accusing Hermione of as her line of questioning remained rather vague and mostly focused on the legality of memory charms, which Ron was sure Hermione could have recited back from memory. Again Ron had to wonder how they'd discovered that she'd modified her parents in the first place since they didn't seem to know any of the particulars like they had with he and Harry thanks to their confiscated wands. Finally, realizing that she was getting nowhere, the witch simply asked Hermione to explain what she had done.

At first Hermione seemed her usual calm self, explaining things like this was just another school problem to which she already knew the answer. It was a good defense, so far as Ron could tell, her precise knowledge of memory charms, her near-perfect memory for detail, and the occasional reminder of how she'd had to send her parents away in the first place because he was helping to defeat Riddle covered every angle.

She explained how she'd feared for her parents' safety should the Ministry fall and if she was discovered to be assisting Harry in defeating Riddle, and how she believed the safest option was to get them out of the country as so many wizards had done. She told them how she had secured her parents passports and id's by using several ConfundusCharms on muggles to fool them into believing she had the correct documentation for Wendell and Monica Wilkins, how she had explained the necessity of going into hiding to her parents before performing the charm on them, and how she had since then lifted the charms modifying their memories and explained the situation more fully since finding then in Australia.

"So while your parents were aware that they would need to relocate to Australia, they were not informed that you would also be modifying their memories prior to performing the charms?"

"Correct."

"Was it really necessary to go to such lengths if they already understood the reasons behind their need to leave the country?"

Hermione took a breath, remaining far more calm than Ron himself would've been if he'd been the one being questioned. "That's an impossible hypothetical, and one I believe not worth considering. However, I can imagine an alternative scenario where they are found and harmed, and even possibly murdered, and I cannot regret my decision if it helped prevent this possibility from ever occurring."

"And what of the possibility of you never finding them to restore their memories, resulting in them spending the rest of their lives under assumed aliases and without knowing they had a daughter?"

"I considered that possibility and I can tell you the only way that would have occurred was if I died. And if that had been the case, there is no doubt that it would've still been for the best as I am certain Riddle would be in control of the country and Harry would be dead as well. In that case, I believe it safest they continue living in hiding."

"You cannot be sure—"

"Actually, I am quite sure that if I had died, then Harry Potter and Ron Weasley would have fallen as well, and with us the knowledge of how to defeat Riddle would have died as well."

Ron was moved by Hermione's words, in her faith in himself and Harry. She was right of course. There was no doubt that Hermione could die while he Ron was still breathing, and knew Harry felt the same. While he hadn't realized it at the time—half expecting that he would have to die to give Harry and Hermione a last shot at Riddle—he'd come to the conclusion since the last battle that with the three of them, it was all or nothing. They couldn't survive without the other two. He'd even joked once that seeing as how Harry was practically immortal, this made him immortal by default, and asked Ginny to throw knives at them both until Hermione shouted "Ron!" and scolded him, reminding him uncannily of his mother.

Unfortunately this lighthearted memory was interrupted by the Head of the Dept. of MLE's next question.

"And what about choice? Don't you believe that had you not survived the war, your parents had the right to know they'd lost their daughter?"

Until that point, Hermione had been unfazed by anything they'd thrown at her. But now Ron could see her lip tremble slightly as she shifted her weight to one foot unconsciously.

"I do not believe that such a choice should have been taken from them, no. But I believed it to be a possible necessary sacrifice for their own safety."

The witch nodded, seemingly accepting her answer. "Now Ms. Granger, would you mind conveying the exact parts of your parents' memories that you modified?"

Hermione began to recite what was clearly a well-rehearsed litany of details. Ron tried to listen, but the only thing he understood was that he'd had no idea how complicated Hermione's task had been. He remembered her coming to the Burrow immediately after casting the charms on her parents, remembered trying to grasp the immensity of what she'd put herself through as he tried his best to console her, but he realized he hadn't even thought to be impressed by the actual magic. After all, if that pee-brained twit Lockhart had known how to do it, it couldn't be that hard. Or so he'd thought.

"And all of them have been removed and the memories completely restored?" the witch asked after Hermione finished her explanations.

"Yes," said Hermione. "They remember everything from before I cast the charms as well as their time spent as Wendell and Monica Wilkins."

This seemed to conclude the proceedings and after a brief deliberation—though longer than the ones after his and Harry's questionings—the court decided that Hermione's actions had been for the sake of her parents' safety and had not benefited her in any way at their own expense, so she was let off without so much as a warning.

While Ron was as grateful for this as everyone, he didn't find himself as happy as everyone else as they made their way out of the courtroom and up to see his dad and tell him the good news. He was troubled. While no one else had seemed to notice, Ron hadn't missed the miniscule pause Hermione took before answering the witch's final question. Then again, no-one else—not even Harry—knew Hermione as well as Ron, and though he still questioned a great deal of her behavior since she left for Australia, he still thought himself capable of noticing when Hermione was hiding something, a trait he'd honed since discovering her use of the time turner during third year.

He knew confronting her about it would lead nowhere, even if things weren't so damn awkward between them, and resigned himself to simply watching her closely over the next few days leading up to their meeting with the Gringots goblins. He knew he'd be doing so anyway, so this at least gave him an excuse to keep an eye on her.

They returned to the Burrow a short while later, informing everyone of the good news which earned Harry a kiss from both his mum and Ginny, and Hermione a trio of hugs from all three of the Weasley women. George, who was surprisingly waiting with them upon their return, at least did his best not to appear displeased with the news, even if he said nothing.

After deciding to hold off the party until after the Gringots trial which was scheduled for the tenth, Hermione proceeded to begin preparing for their defense against the goblins immediately. After this elicited groans from both Ron and Harry, she replied that she wasn't asking for their help rather snappishly, for which Ron was grateful. His nerves were a wreck thanks to the Ministry trials and from having Hermione around constantly after such a long time apart. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept gotten more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. As Bill and Hermione began to discuss the best way to handle the goblins, he felt slightly guilty that he wasn't doing more to help, but figured he probably wouldn't be asked to speak at the Goblin trial since he doubted he could keep himself under control when talking to the ugly little buggers.

After a short nap and a few games of chess with Harry and Ginny, the two of them decided to visit Teddy and Andromeda since Harry hadn't seen them since his birthday and Ron decided to use his freedom to get some work done.

Working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was something Ron had come to enjoy since helping to reopen the shop and he'd been neglecting it since he'd left for Australia, only having enough time to send instructions to Verity and the other new employees along with answers to the questions they occasionally posed him. He Apparated to Diagon Alley and went to the shop, which was quite busy since Hogwarts students would be heading back in a few weeks for the start of the new term. Watching the midgets race around the store, marveling at the many magical jokes and trinkets—some of which, Ron was proud to claim, had been his own invention—he felt a pained desire to join them on the Hogwarts Express come September first.

Thankfully the longing was fleeting. He couldn't go back, he wouldn't. To him, Hogwarts was now a completely different place from the school he'd attended for six years. There would be no Harry to help make their classes more bearable. There would be no Dumbledore saying completely mental things at the welcoming feast. Even Snape would be gone, and though he wouldn't miss that man's unique combination of disdain and grease, he couldn't imagine not commiserating with Harry for the millionth time about how unfair he treated them and their fellow Gryffindors. Most of his fellow classmates, besides a few muggle-borns like Dean, would be gone, having had the option to take their N.E.W.T.s under special circumstances a month after the final battle. Ron even briefly wondered if Malfoy would be returning. It would almost be worth going back to 'thank' him for their encounters at Malfoy Manor and in the Room of Requirement.

He knew he would miss quidditch, but helping Ginny train with her training that summer had even beaten some of that desire into remission. He didn't need any more bruises from bludgers and quaffles hurled at breakneck speed.

And of course, going back would mean dealing with Hermione every day. Sitting with her in classes, at mealtimes, patrolling the corridors with her on prefect duty. He wasn't sure he could handle that, and that doubt pretty much confirmed in his mind that he _wasn't _ready to handle that. At least not until she answered for a few things.

After Verity assured him that they had everything under control, Ron went to the back office. The orders for their owl service had piled up a bit in his absence and he went through those first, matching up products with their requests and setting them in the appropriate cubbies to be picked up and delivered in the morning.

He then proceeded to tackle the books and ledger. He'd quickly realized that keeping records of expenses and transactions and inventory was an unfortunate part of operating any business when the shop had first reopened, but after some help from Bill, Ron had found himself quite skilled at the mathematical side of things, or at least more so than the actual magic side of product creation and invention. Bill said it came from his analytical skills honed from playing chess, and his ability to see the big picture, at least when necessary.

After a while, Verity joined him, assisting with the records for a few hours before finally calling it a night. He checked the clock as she left and realized it was quite late. Supper had been hours ago and he wondered Percy had attempted to fix something or if his mum had been in good enough spirits to get back in the kitchen, though he guessed they'd simply made do with sandwiches or something equally simple. After locking up, he briefly considered stopping by the Leaky Cauldron and getting something from Hannah, but remembered he had a plentiful supply of chocolate frogs at the Burrow and decided they'd make do.

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><p><em>August 10th<em>

Ron was nervous as he sat on what amounted to a petrified log that served as a bench seated between Ginny and Hermione, a small part of him bothered that his position on Harry's right had been usurped by his little sister—an occurrence that was becoming more and more frequent since they'd gotten back together.

He had no idea what to expect from this meeting with the four wart-faced goblins somewhat comically looking down on him and the others from an absurdly high perch that more resembled a gaudy set of high chairs than the menacing judges' table it was intended to be.

He didn't even know where exactly in England they were, other than knowing Bill had Apparated them to a secluded village in the south that served as the goblin capital of the north countries (not that he knew what the goblins considered the north countries to be). Nor did he know what exactly was going to happen when the ugliest goblin finally finished speaking—since he couldn't hear Bill as he translated Gobbledegook to Hermione. Not that it mattered. The pair of them had assured the rest that they had everything under control. But if that was the case, why had Kingsley, who was sitting to Bill's right, two other Ministry officials, and four aurors accompanied them?

After the little bleeder shut his frog trap, Kingsley, Bill and Hermione stood and approached the panel of judges. Surprisingly—to everyone except Ron—Hermione was the one to speak in their defense. However, her demeanor was not the reserved and respectful one she'd held through most of the Ministry hearing; rather, she sound aggressive and intimidating—something Ron knew she pulled off rather well despite her gentle physical appearance.

While she did apologize for intruding on the goblins sovereignty and independence, she pointed out that at the time of their break-in, Gringots was no longer under goblin control, and their actions had directly led to its return to its rightful owners. She also claimed that they had no right to retaliate for the theft of anything from the Lestrange vault, as technically it was owned by wizards, and so it was up to them to decide whether or not to press charges. "But if you do find them, feel free to let them know we're more than happy to deal with them," she concluded, leaving the goblins stunned. Ron couldn't help but grin widely at her cheek.

After a tense moment of silence, one of the goblins spoke up in a gravelly voice, using English for the first time. "There are circumstances, should the owner of a vault to be indisposed, the closest available living relative may step in for their sake."

Ron was curious about who this would be, but he didn't have to wonder for long as Hermione spoke up once more. "Yes, well, seeing as we couldn't be sure which of the possible candidates you would choose, we went ahead and had both of them drop all charges." Ron had no clue what was going on, but it sounded like Hermione deserved her usual Outstanding for her homework.

"You spoke to Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy?" asked the goblin doubtfully.

"And Andromeda Tonks. Both agreed to drop any charges," Hermione repeated.

"So they know it was the cup you stole?"

It seemed finally the goblin had found a way to shake Hermione. Half of those present had no idea about the cup or the horcruxes. Of course he, Harry and Hermione knew. And they'd told Kingsley and Ginny, and he didn't really mind if Bill and Percy knew. But what of the other two ministry officials and the aurors?

"Of course," Hermione replied, her voice not betraying any of the worry showing in her face.

"And you have proof?"

At this, Kingsley withdrew two envelopes from his coat pocket and handed them over. The goblin examined their contents then passed them down the bench to his fellows.

"Very well. But there is still another matter."

This appeared to be something Hermione _had_ expected her self-assurance returned somewhat as she spoke. "If you are referring to the damage done to Gringots' reputation thanks to our break-in of a high security vault—"

"Of course we are, you rat-haired little witch," the goblin interrupted her, clearly incensed. "Gringots takes great pride in boasting complete and absolute security and secrecy for our clients."

Hermione continued, her voice calm but her eyes blazing with fury. "Then I offer you our services." When this was met with silence, she went on. "Since Ron, Harry and myself were the ones who managed to break-in to your vault, we can tell you our methods and explain your weaknesses to you to prevents others from exploiting them in the future."

"So you know what changes we've made and have an even easier time of it next time you stage a break-in?"

"I didn't say anything about examining what new defenses you put in place, only pointing out the handful of weaknesses we know Gringots to possess. But if you'd rather not, we won't disagree with your decision. I simply thought it would be good for business for everyone to know that the three wizards who defeated Tom Riddle helped make Gringots an even safer place for them to store their gold."

"Very well," the goblin finally said after considering Hermione's offer. A escape halfway between a sigh of relief and a groan escaped Ron's mouth. It sounded liked Hermione had outmaneuvered the goblins every step of the way, but he didn't fancy further dealings with them in the future, even if he did half a decent grasp on defensive spells and wards finally.

"There is still the matter of the dragon," the goblin on the far left said. "We will need a replacement."

"That," said Kingsley, speaking up for the first time, "is a matter for our Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Since they were unaware that Gringots even owned a dragon before its escape, and eye witness reports have claimed the creature was in quite poor health, I sincerely doubt they'll help in procuring a replacement until you've proven you'll take better care of it than your last one."

While Ron thought Hermione would like this stance against animal cruelty, he guessed it was more of an excuse to keep the goblins from getting a new dragon. He doubted they wanted to risk the possibility of a dragon escaping into muggle London and the subsequent mess dealing with fixing damaged property and modifying muggle memories.

At long last, the goblins seemed satisfied that they had gotten everything they could hope for from the meeting, and accepted that they would get the chance to peel the flesh from their bones as punishment and the group of wizards slowly gathered as they prepared to leave while Kingsley and the goblins exchanged a few parting words.

Meanwhile, everyone was congratulating Hermione. Percy couldn't help but drone on about how impressive she'd been, stating that if she learned Gobbledigook, he had no doubt she could find a job working in the Goblin Liason Office at the ministry. Ginny was busy talking about the party they would throw tomorrow in celebration of both the trio's newly cleared names as well as Ginny's seventeenth birthday, and who should be invited to the Burrow. But Ron was too busy keeping an eye not on Harry to see if his friend's friendly, carefree tone faltered as he jokingly asked Hermione why she didn't ask for his help dealing with Andromeda and Narcissa.

They'd managed to keep a tight lid on thing for the last three months, but they hadn't even considered the fact that the goblins had known about the cup or that it had been what they'd been after during their break-in. As Ron began to think, he saw more and more possibilities for the information to get out. The entire D.A. knew about Ravenclaw's diadem. And Umbridge must've noticed that her locket had been replaced by a fake at some point, and who knew if she'd told anyone before being locked up in Azkaban. And while most of the wizarding world still saw Harry as their hero and savior, there were a few that remained suspicious thanks to Rita Skeeter's articles and knew she and Hermione hadn't told them the whole story about Riddle's defeat.

And we still don't know how the Ministry found out about Hermione's parents, he reminded himself. Ron wondered if Harry and Hermione were thinking along the same lines. In the past, the three of them would've sat down together the moment they arrived safely back at the Burrow to discuss their concerns and compare notes. Or rather, Hermione would've made them sit down and gone on about her worries until Ron and Harry couldn't get the ideas out of their minds. But as they Apparated and began the walk across the field toward home, Ron guessed there would be no secret meeting this time. Harry had Ginny to keep his mind on better things than worrying about destroyed horcruxes. And Hermione had…well Hermione would probably want to start planning her return to Australia now that the trials were over. It's not like she'd want to stick around the Burrow after all.

Ron's heart felt very heavy as he trudged across the field. While it hadn't been a picnic having Hermione back at the Burrow, he didn't really want to see her disappear again either. But if she did, he hoped she'd at least take Crookshanks with her this time. He didn't need the mangy fur ball adding any more scars to Ron's collection.

* * *

><p>AN: The chapter's title comes from lyrics in the song "River Guard" by Smog off their album _Knock Knock_.

For the record, I have nothing against asparagus. Actually I love the stuff. I just don't think Ron would be the biggest fan.

I know the trials probably seem like they were wrapped up rather quickly and easily. But as I pointed out in the story, the Ministry is actually on Harry's side finally and wants to clear his name. Also Harry's trial in _OotP _happened rather quickly (though for different reasons) and was likewise resolved in a very similar fashion. Still, I want to apologize to anyone who expected it to be a major story arc. At least I covered the issue of Harry and Ron Apparating without licenses and Harry using Unforgivables, which I've never seen done in another fanfiction. Mostly it was just a thing to get Ron and Harry to reconnect with Hermione…and to get the Malfoys into the story a little, since they won't have much of a presence in this fic.

And if you're wondering how Hermione's memory charms are considered so complicated (and not just by Ron's standards either), don't worry. That info will be revealed in time. And if you're curious about Ron's additions to the shelves of WWW, you'll get your chance to find out about them in chapter 5.


	5. CH4: Ends of the Earth

**A/N: **thanks to **youcandoit, leightonmarie1992, JustAnotherGuy100, vlaovic, Sarden, ChelseaLovesFood, oscarpaz00,** and especially superfans **RyanRow02** and **milan4ever** for the reviews and kind words. I'll leave out some biscuits and milk for all of you. Do they even eat biscuits with milk in the UK? Or just tea? And what about dunking donuts in coffee? Does that happen? Mysteries to ponder…

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Ends of the Earth<strong>

_14 May, 1998 _

Hermione caught herself on her hands and knees as the Portkey deposited her in the middle of the Australian outback. It was near dusk and she shivered in the cold. For a moment, she didn't move to stand, but only watched as a few tears slipped down her cheeks to fall in the dirt below her face. She reached out and scrambled to pick up the single rose she'd dropped when the Portkey had pitched her forward. Ron had transfigured it for her just before she'd left. It had been an impressive piece of magic. Well not really, but she'd been impressed he'd known such a thing since it wasn't exactly practical. For a moment she considered leaving it. She could see the magic was already beginning to fade, the flower's brilliant red beginning to turn a pale pinkish color. She didn't know how long it would take to find her parents, restore their memories and bring them back to England, and it would probably die long before she saw Ron again. He would never know if she were to just throw it away so quickly.

_But I'll know_, she told herself. It was the one nice memory she had of Ron, of anything, from her last twenty-four hours in England. She didn't bother to wipe the tears from her face, nor the dust caked to her hands and jeans. She was alone with no one to see her in the middle of nowhere, so no reason to bother with appearances.

She heard a soft pop that caused her to jump and Hermione turned. Even if she hadn't recognized the sound of someone Apparating, the long robes and pointed hat would've been a dead giveaway that the stocky man looking to be in his early forties that stood before her was a wizard. Almost instantly another man, about ten years his junior appeared next to him, though he tripped on the hem of his robes as he steadied himself after Apparating.

"Jesus Gibbs, I said I was just gonna be another second," said the younger man whose hair color reminded Hermione very strongly of Draco Malfoy's, though his was styled into pointy spikes rather than slicked back.

"We were already behind schedule," the older wizard scolded gently before looking her up and down. "No thanks to you," she managed to catch him mutter. "Excuse me. Miss Granger?"

"Yes." Her voice cracked. She coughed then tried again. "Yes, I'm Hermione Granger." It almost felt wrong to identify herself correctly to a pair of strangers after spending most of the last year in hiding. "And you both are?"

"David Gibbons, Miss. Australian Auror." He took off his hat and offered her a short bow. "And this is—"

"Arnie Stout," said Arnie, rushing forward to take Hermione's hand and press it to his lips. "And a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss."

His lips were chapped and lingered far too long on her skin for Hermione's liking. "Thank you," she said withdrawing her hand from his grip as subtly as possible.

"Well, now that you're here, me and Gibbs can get you set up at Potbelly's." He then hooked his arm through hers and Disapparated the pair without bothering to warn her or give her a chance to grab her trunk from the ground.

She found herself in an alleyway on the other side of the Apparition, pulling away from Arnie to check herself over, making sure her body parts were still attached and where they were supposed to be. Gibbons appeared a moment later with her trunk. He didn't say anything, just glared at Arnie who seemed oblivious.

"Now," Arnie said, taking her arm again and pulling her from the alley out onto the street, Gibbons following close behind, "we'll fix you up with a nice room on the Ministry's dollar. Nice place, Potbelly's. You'll like it. Then first thing tomorrow we can get to work."

For a moment Hermione felt like protesting. She didn't really want to waste time sitting around, and just knowing she was finally in the same country as her parents made the urge to find them all the stronger. But she did feel exhausted even if technically she'd only been awake for a few hours.

Inside Arnie finally released her as went to speak with the innkeeper.

"My apologies for Arnie, Miss. He does take the job very seriously. You couldn't ask for a better partner, honestly."

There's was a faint smile on Gibbons' face as he said this and Hermione wondered if the two of them were just partners or if they were actual friends. She pictured Ron and Harry for a moment in their place as partners, as Aurors. The two of them truly were invincible together. But then she remembered Ron had turned down Kingsley's offer to become an Auror, and pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

Arnie was back, handing her a rather large silver key. "Room nineteen," he said smiling. "Here let me help you get settled in—"

"Why don't we let Miss Granger have some time to herself, Arn? She's traveled a long way and could probably use some peace and quiet."

Arnie's face was awash with disappointment and Hermione was quite grateful to Gibbons for interceding on her behalf. She took the key, her trunk and bid the two farewell before climbing the stairs to her room. It was plain and boring, but considerably cleaner than the room she'd stayed in at the Leaky Cauldron before third year. Now that she was alone, Hermione didn't know what to do with herself. There was no point in unpacking since she didn't know if she'd be staying there more than the one night. She decided to take a shower, hoping it would help relax her and make sleep come more quickly.

Stripped bare, she stood under the spray, letting the warm water cascade down her face and chest. Where was she to start looking? When Hermione had come up with the plan to protect her parents, she'd told them they'd have to go into hiding in Australia for their safety. Of course they'd believed she would go with them, and that they would know they were John and Caroline Granger and not Wendell and Monica Wilkins. To make sure no one could use Legilimancy to pull their whereabouts from her mind or in case Death Eaters tried to torture the information out of her, Hermione had made sure she didn't know where exactly in Australia they would be going.

She guessed that no one at the Australian Ministry knew where they were located either, otherwise Gibbons and Arnie certainly would have told her. So logically, it was up to her to find them through Muggle means. She hoped they'd opened a dental office. That would certainly be easy enough to find. But then again, perhaps they joined an already existing practice. Or perhaps they weren't working at all, having spent the last year on an extended holiday as they settled into their new life.

As she shut off the water and toweled off, Hermione cursed herself for not thinking to place some kind of charm—like the Trace perhaps—on them to find them more easily with magic. Wanting to rush toward the next morning, she changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed. Of course this did nothing to settle her thoughts.

Was it really just last night that she'd climbed into a very different bed? Into Ron Weasley's bed, a place she'd dreamt and fantasized about since first seeing it four years ago. It was all so confusing. They'd been so happy, planning to come and find her parents together. But then reality came crashing down and everything stopped making sense. She didn't know what was to blame, if the problem had been what they'd said and done to one another…or what they hadn't.

Hermione would've liked to blame it all on Ron. Everything had been fine until he'd changed his mind and told her he wasn't coming, that he couldn't come. He'd practically kicked her out of the Burrow. He hadn't explained, not really, and she was left wondering if she'd done something by accident to upset him. She was eerily reminded of sixth year right before Ron began dating Lavender when he'd given her the cold shoulder, leaving her hurt and confused.

But what about what he'd told her just before that? Had he meant it, or was he only feeling guilty. Hermione knew how much Ron hated when she was upset with him, so maybe it had just been a way to keep her from getting angry, from setting another flock of canaries on him.

But no. He'd meant it. He hadn't realized what it meant to hear him say those words back in sixth year, but he'd certainly been aware of how happy she'd been to hear him admit it out loud.

"I love you Hermione."

That's what he'd said. She'd known he loved her, known it since Shell Cottage, since he apologized for leaving, since Dumbledore's funeral. In hindsight, it might actually have been Ron going out with Lavender that truly convinced her. Why else would he put up with the silly girl for months simply because she'd kissed Viktor Krum?

It wasn't so much the words themselves, but the fact that Ron had actually said them, that he'd looked her in the eye and spoken them without hesitating or making it into a joke. She was pretty sure he'd never said those words to Harry, and Ginny had mentioned once that the last time he'd said those words to her had been after her experience with Riddle after her first year.

It wasn't a ring—it was far too soon for that, and even her most illogical romantic impulses wouldn't let her think otherwise. But still it was a big step for Ron and for them as a couple.

So why was she in Australia looking for her parents all alone?

Was it because of what she'd said in reply, or rather, what she hadn't said? But no, Ron told her he wasn't going to Australia with her before he even gave her a chance to respond to him. 'I love you, but get out of my life.' That's what he'd said more or less. She wondered if it was even possible to understand the mind of Ronald Weasley, because if he could still make her this confused after seven years, she didn't see much chance in figuring him out in the next seven.

But there was a part of her that said it couldn't be all Ron's fault and another question perhaps even more important than why Ron changed his mind about coming with her: Why hadn't she say it back?'

It made no sense. She was the one who always knew what to say, who always had the absolutely perfect combination of words to get her meaning across. Sure, with Ron the words rarely came easily, but it wasn't like those three words were that complicated. Maybe if he'd let her get the words out before he talked to her about Australia she wouldn't be having this problem. But could it really be love if she questioned it simply because she was going to be separated from him?

No, she _had_ to love him. She was sure of it. She didn't do _that_ with just anyone. She didn't feel this way about anyone else. So why did he…why had they…?

She couldn't think about it anymore. It was simply too mortifying. She resolved herself to focus only on fixing things with her parents. Nothing ever got solved between her and Ron when they were apart, so there was no use dwelling on it until they were back in the same place. Then maybe they could actually get to the _same place_. The sooner she finished things in Australia, the sooner she could get back home. And eventually Hermione slipped into a fitful sleep, full of dreams of Ron leaving her in a lonely tent in a deserted forest.

_15 May_, _1998_

Arnie and Gibbons were back early the next morning and she was thankful they—or at least Gibbons—seemed to understand to begin work immediately. They helped her find the Muggle library in Canberra where she spent the day pouring over records; finding the addresses and phone numbers of every dental clinic in the eight biggest cities in Australia. She knew her parents preferred living near the city over the countryside and had no reason to believe that'd changed with their new identities. She also eliminated any practices based in hospitals, knowing her parents preferred a smaller, more comfortable work environment. While this had narrowed her search a great deal, she had been discouraged to find no practices listed under Wilkins, and decided the best avenue was simply to go through her list and call one clinic after another, asking if a Doctor Wilkins worked there. She refused to consider the possibility that neither of her parents had found jobs yet until she exhausted all other options.

Having spent most of her savings during the Horcrux hunt, Hermione wasn't sure how she was going to afford to make all the calls until Gibbons told her Kingsley had gotten the Australian Ministry to provide her with any funds necessary, which he personally would reimburse them for.

This of course required a visit to Rinerook, Canberra's equivalent of Gringotts, to exchange wizard currency for Muggle money. Despite the desire to find her parents, Hermione couldn't help but feel excited to see Rinerook and see how it differed from Gringotts since Gibbons had told her it was run by wizards and not goblins. Unfortunately, Arnie had suggested she instead catch lunch and insisted he accompany her while Gibbons ran to the bank.

It was horrid. By the end of lunch she was wondering if Gibbons had been honest with her when he said Arnie was a good Auror. It seemed as if he possessed all of the worst traits of both Ron and Cormac without any of their redeeming qualities. N_ot that Cormac had any of those either_, she thought. He droned on and on about the cases he'd worked—none of which sounded that difficult compared to the last seven years of Hermione's life—without asking her one question about herself. Of course that didn't stop him from occasionally throwing out backhanded compliments about her part in the war, claiming that a dark wizard like Voldemort (curiously _he _had no trouble saying the name) would've been defeated long before any serious damage was done. She actually would've liked to ask him about the history of dark wizards in Australia, but of course never really got the chance. Between his jokes—which she either didn't get because of the cultural barrier or simply because they weren't very good—and chattering on with his mouth full, Hermione barely ever managed more than a 'yes' or 'no' in the hour and a half Gibbons was gone.

After lunch they went back to Potbelly's where there was a telephone in her room and another payphone in the lobby. Gibbons informed her that he was Muggle-born and would be more than up to assisting her with the calls if she gave him half the names and numbers on her list. She agreed and headed to her room, Arnie following close behind. He claimed he was sticking with her for safety reasons which didn't make much sense considering he'd told her repeatedly how safe it was for wizards in Australia.

Two hours later she felt like rubbish. She had to shush Arnie constantly just to hear what the receptionists were saying on the other end of the telephone. Not that it mattered. She'd been through half the list and come up with nothing. The closest she'd come was a Doctor Rodger Willis in Melbourne and a Doctor Sarah Williams in Brisbane. It was getting close to the end of the workday and she had nearly resigned herself to giving up for the day and starting fresh in the morning when there was a knock at the door before Gibbons entered a moment later. Somewhat humorously, Hermione noticed both she and Arnie had drawn their wands at the noise, though hers had been up and ready a split second before the seasoned Auror's.

"Any luck?" asked Gibbons.

She shook her head. "You?"

"I…think so, yes."

Hermione wanted to wave her hands in the air and scream at him for not being excited but managed to control herself. She knew he was probably staying calm so as not to get her hopes up in case it was a false lead. "What is it?"

"A Southshore Dental Centre in Southern Perth supposedly has a Doctor Monica Wilkins on staff," he told her, that same faint smile from the day before playing at his lips.

This time Hermione couldn't help but let out a squeak of joy. This was it. There was no way another Monica Wilkins just happened to be working in a dental clinic. She wanted to go immediately before it closed, but Gibbons pointed out they couldn't even safely Apparate there since all they knew was the address. Hermione wanted to protest but was quelled when Gibbons said he and Arnie would leave immediately to find the clinic so they could bring her there first thing in the morning, which judging by Arnie's scowl was a great disappointment to him. She changed for bed the moment they left and fell promptly asleep, the excitement of the day having exhausted her.

_16 May, 1998_

Hermione was pleasantly surprised when Gibbons showed up alone in the morning, telling her they could go to the clinic straight away. He explained that Arnie was back at the office doing paperwork and would be joining them once he'd finished, but she guessed by his miniscule chuckle that Arnie wouldn't be finishing anytime soon. Ten minutes later he took her hand and together they made a series of short Apparitions before they were finally close enough to Apparate to a park along the riverfront only a short walk away from the Southshore Dental Centre.

Unfortunately a pair of Muggles spotted them and Gibbons had to cast a quick Bodybind Curse on them followed by two _Obliviates_. She tried not to think of Gilderoy Lockhart or the Muggle groundskeeper at the Quidditch World Cup when she saw their dazed expressions, and it was all she could do to keep from picturing those same addled looks permanently fixed to her parents' faces if she failed to undo the charms.

The clinic was located on a relatively quiet street and Gibbons said he would wait outside for her. She thanked him silently for giving her privacy as she stepped inside. Waiting for her was a young man sitting behind the reception desk with a smile so bright she thought it was fake until she remembered that she was in a dental clinic.

"Um hello," said Hermione.

"Hi there. What can I do for you today?"

"I was wondering if I could speak to my—to Dr. Wilkins."

"Oh, do you have an appointment?" he asked, beginning to look at a brightly colored schedule on the desk.

"Oh sorry, but no I don't. I was just hoping I could meet her." When the man continued to look confused she explained. "I…I've just moved here, you see. So I'm looking for a new dentist and I thought I might speak with her before I decided…before I made my decision."

The man looked back up at her. "Ah. English."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, not following.

"Your accent. You're from England, right, the same as Dr. Wilkins?"

"Yes, exactly!" she said, relieved. His face broke out into that bright smile again and she couldn't help but smile in exchange. It was infectious.

"Well you look like you don't really need a dentist with those pearly whites, but I'd get in trouble for turning away a potential patient. Dr. Wilkins is with someone at the moment but she's free right after. You can talk to her then, if you don't mind waiting a bit."

Hermione blushed a little at his compliment. Of course her teeth were perfectly white; her parents _were _dentists after all. "Absolutely. I mean of course I don't mind waiting. Thank you." She turned on the spot a few times, fidgeting and unsure what to do now until the receptionist smiled again and gestured toward a comfortable looking chair in the waiting room. "Thank you," she repeated, glancing at the nametag hanging from his breast pocket "Nathan."

"You're welcome…um…I actually didn't get your name."

"I'm Hermione…" Her words fell off. She had almost said her name was Hermione Granger, but caught herself. She wasn't sure if she should tell him her name was Granger, and she certainly couldn't say it was Wilkins either, could she. It was a miracle he hadn't noticed how much she resembled the good Doctor Wilkins. She noticed he was waiting for her to finish telling him her name, but instead she took a seat and pretended to become instantly absorbed in a magazine about deep sea fishing she picked up, resolutely ignoring the strange look he gave her for a few minutes before he had to answer the telephone.

Finally excitement was beginning to hit Hermione. She was going to see her mother in just a few minutes after a year apart, after facing the reality that she'd never see either of her parents ever again while Bellatrix had been torturing her. She eventually had to brace both of her hands against her knees to keep them from bouncing nervously, but this only stopped it for a minute or two before her entire body began to shake with excitement and she had to stop herself from jumping up every time a door opened and a patient exited.

After twenty minutes—which had felt more like two hours to Hermione—Nathan was telling her she could go in to see Dr. Wilkins in room four. Hermione stood and walked toward the room, telling herself she would not cry.

She walked inside and saw the back of her mother's head, her perfectly straight, chestnut-colored hair Hermione had always envied her for, and began to cry. She sniffed and her mother—Dr. Wilkins, turned to her with a surprised look that instantly changed to concerned.

"Oh, sweetheart, are you alright?" She reached out and placed a comforting hand on Hermione's arm, which only served to make things worse.

It was terrible and Hermione could barely stand it. She hadn't really thought this through. She'd hoped that she could get through this without becoming a complete wreck. But having her mother try to comfort her, calling her 'sweetheart' while believing her daughter was actually a complete stranger, was too much. She didn't want a consoling pat. She wanted to be enveloped in her mother's arms, for her to hold her close and tell her everything was alright.

But then she thought of Ron, and how for years she'd had to make do with fleeting touches and consoling pats when she'd wanted so much more from him, and decided she _could_ do this. "I'm sorry," Hermione said, her voice very watery. "That time of the month, you know?" She laughed, not at her joke, but at what she imagined Ron's reaction would be to her saying such a thing, then hiccupped and her moth—Dr. Wilkins smiled at her.

"Don't let it bother you dear. Just take a deep breath. I'm right here when you're ready."

Hermione was feeling better, but the truth was she didn't trust herself with trying to actually have a conversation with her mother, with pretending that she didn't know the woman she was speaking to, that she could look her in the eye and face the reality that she didn't recognize her own daughter.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just…I'll…I'll come back another time." And without waiting for a response, Hermione rushed out of the room, past Nathan, and didn't stop until she was outside and Gibbons grabbed her arm as she ran by.

In that moment, she couldn't help but want Ron; him and no one else. Yes, Harry and Ginny and the other Weasleys and her parents were always sources of comfort, but mostly they were there to comfort her about Ron, while he protected her from everything else. And in that moment she felt the first stirrings of anger.

Before, she'd been confused and upset. Now she felt anger at Ron for not being there with her, and at herself for feeling like she needed him when he clearly did not need her. It was comforting in a way, familiar, and easy to channel into something productive. _This _is why she'd needed him with her, why she'd wanted him to come with her, why she'd been overjoyed to hear him promise to help her find her parents and stand beside her. And yet, here she was, no Ron in sight.

She stopped her crying and explained Gibbons that it had indeed been her mother and that her plan was to wait and follow her when she left for home at the end of the day and undo the spells on both her and her father there. It certainly seemed like a better idea to restore their memories in the privacy of a home than in a public place where their confusion might be noticed and attract unwanted attention from other Muggles. Of course this meant waiting several hours for Doctor Wilkins to finish working for the day. But Hermione used the time to plan. She didn't want to be caught unprepared again.

When planning everything for her parents, her first decision had been to not use _Obliviate_. While practical for her purposes in removing her parents' memories, she knew it was all but impossible to recover them later without resorting to extreme measures like torture as had been the case with Bertha Jorkins. After all Gilderoy Lockhart was still missing most of his past despite years of treatment at St. Mungo's.

Instead, she'd used a false memory charm that simply substituted a fake memory rather than erasing the original completely. She'd gotten the idea from Professor Slughorn when he'd modified his own memory due to his guilt over helping the boy Riddle in his path toward immortality. In the end, she'd had to use a total of five separate charms to cover everything she needed to.

The first had made them believe they were Wilkins rather than Grangers. This included fake memories of both of them growing up as only-children and believing their parents to be dead so they would have no familial ties when leaving England. The second charm convinced them that their livelong dream was to move to Australia as soon as possible. The third had assured them that there was no such thing as magic. The fourth had made them forget that not only did the Wilkins not have a seventeen year-old daughter, but that they absolutely did not want to have children ever. While Hermione wouldn't have minded a little brother or sister, she knew her parents were content with one child. And the fifth…the fifth had been completely unnecessary…and also the one she felt guiltiest about…and the happiest.

Individually, they'd been rather simple, but combining all of them had been rather difficult

Of course, the charms hadn't taken care of everything. She'd procured passports for both of them under their new names and had to magically altered important documents such as their degrees from university and identification cards to match their aliases. She'd also had to throw out most of her own belongings as well as things like family photo albums and home movies; anything that tied them to their real relatives and daughter.

Thankfully, since she'd lied to her parents and told them that all three of them were going to Australia to hide, it had been remarkably easy to accomplish these things without them noticing. Their house had already been put up for sale by the time she put the spells in place and they were all in the midst of packing everything away into boxes.

She went over and over in her head the incantation to undo the charms, muttering it to herself under her breath until she was convinced she had it perfectly. Gibbons had left her for a short time to get food, otherwise he'd remained quietly be her side. She felt comfortable in his presence, the way he didn't impose himself on her thoughts but still seemed willing and helpful if need be. And indeed he'd proven himself essential to the plan forming in her head by having picked up a phial of sleeping draught while procuring them lunch.

Finally, they watched the staff leave the centre from across the street, Disillusionment charms cast on both Hermione and Gibbons, and the Australian Auror took aim and cast a locator spell on her mother. It wouldn't last long and they'd have to remain relatively close for it to work, but it would prevent them from having to find a way to keep up with Doctor Wilkins' car. He told Hermione to go back to Potbelly's and he'd meet her there later. Hermione wanted to protest, wanted to tell him that she absolutely needed to see both her parents tonight, undo the charms tonight, but if everything went according to plan, there would be a lot of explaining to do and it could take hours to get everything out in the open.

As she began hopscotch-ing her way back to Canberra and the inn, Apparating to the same places she'd visited with Gibbons on their way earlier that morning, she realized tomorrow would be better. It would be Sunday and both her parents would be at home all day without the need to rush off to work. Once back in her room, there wasn't much to do except pace around frantically until Gibbons arrived.

Thankfully he was back within the hour, telling her that her parents' house was only a short distance from her mother's office. He told her to be packed and ready first thing in the morning and left without another word. That night, Hermione didn't even bother trying to sleep.

_17 May, 1998_

In the morning she showered and removed a few things from the loo and set them back in her trunk, grabbed Ron's rose out of the vase she'd transfigured and went downstairs to the lobby to wait. Both Gibbons and Arnie showed up just after seven, and thankfully she could see Arnie was much more serious than usual and had dropped his usual routine, no doubt aware of what she would be going through that day.

Gibbons paid for the room and returned the key and the three began their series of Disapparitions once again, Hermione being extra careful because she was bringing her trunk with her. They arrived back at Southshore where Gibbons would have to side-along Hermione to her parents' house. He apparently had already shown Arnie how to get there because the blond Auror Disapparated ahead of the other pair on his own.

Immediately upon seeing the house, she thought it was lovely. There were wind chimes on the porch and a birdbath in the front yard and soft blue shutters. There was a little trellis near a cobblestone path which she knew would be filled with climbing roses in the summer. It wasn't her old house in England. That house had been much more beautiful in Hermione's mind, but it didn't matter. She knew this place was now home because as she examined the house, she saw her father through a large bay window.

Again, nothing could stop the tears from falling down her face. Hermione watched him moving about the room. Though she couldn't see what else the room contained, knowing her father for eighteen years made her sure that he was standing in their new library, examining the shelves as he contemplated what book he wanted to take down and read as he relaxed on a Sunday morning at home.

She turned her head, needing to break the vision before her in order to concentrate. "All right, here's how we'll do this. Arnie, you go to the front door and ring the bell. Whoever answers, make up some story to make sure you get both of them to come there. If my Dad answers, tell him you're a wine salesman, and ask to see the lady of the house. If it's my mother, tell her there's an auto show or something to do with old cars and she'll get my dad. Auror Gibbons and I will wait here and once we know both of them are at the door, he'll Apparate into the kitchen and spike their drinks with the sleeping draught."

As she watched Arnie head toward the front door, she felt very nervous. She would've preferred Gibbons to be the one to talk to her parents since he was Muggle-born and would have a better idea of what he should and shouldn't say to them, but like usual, he'd worn his full auror robes and cloak while Arnie was dressed in Muggle attire. Hermione didn't believe she was up to talking to her parents to distract them, at least not until they really were her parents once again.

She watched as her mother came to the door, spoke to Arnie for a few seconds, blushed—Hermione groaned at the thought of her mother falling for Arnie's 'charm'—and called for her husband who quickly joined her. She didn't bother to look at Gibbons whom she heard Disapparate with a soft pop as she bit her nails, hoping her parents hadn't finished all of their breakfast yet. He was back a moment later and he nodded to her to let her know things had gone according to plan.

Apparently Arnie's knowledge of classic cars was more impressive than she'd anticipated because he chatted with her parents for a few more minutes before finally shaking her father's hand and pretending to set off back down the street until he was sure her parents were no longer watching. He came back and the three of them crept around the house until they had a view of the dining room where both of her parents were now sitting; her mother drinking a cup of tea, her father a cup of coffee.

The moment the pair of them drifted off to sleep, Hermione Apparated inside, already pointing her wand at her father and muttering the incantations to undo most of the charms she'd placed on him before Gibbons and Arnie managed to follow. When she'd finished she turned and repeated the spells on her mother. After that, there was nothing to do but wait, praying it had worked according to plan and that they wouldn't be furious.

When her parents came two, there was a moment before they caught sight of the three other people standing in their house—hopefully only two of them strangers—where that dazed look of confusion crossed their faces and she panicked, thinking their minds were gone forever. But slowly a look of realization came over them both and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Of course they'd be confused, suddenly remembering huge chunks of their past and having to reconcile them with what they'd believed for the past year. After all, Hermione had made sure that they'd remember their lives as Wendell and Monica as well.

Then they saw their daughter and the next twenty minutes were filled with a great many hugs and kisses and even more tears from all three Grangers. Finally her mother's joy and relief began to dwindle and her anger started to seep through. She demanded Hermione explain what had happened to them, why she hadn't come with them to Australia, and a million other questions without giving Hermione the chance to answer any of them. Although she hated to see her mum angry with her, a part of Hermione wanted to laugh. Never before had she seen how similar Caroline Granger and Molly Weasley were to one-another.

Finally her father placed a firm hand on his wife's shoulder and suggested that they let their daughter explain. And explain she did. Well, she explained that she couldn't go with them because Harry had needed her help fighting Riddle, and what exactly she'd done to her parents to make them forget about her, and why it'd been necessary to ensure their safety. What she did not tell them were the details of exactly how she'd helped Harry over the past year, though she promised to do so.

"I'll tell you everything you want to know. Everything. But I need to know…need to know if you can ever forgive me."

She wasn't crying; she'd already used up all her tears, at least for now. But she couldn't look at them, couldn't see their faces while they told her forgiveness was impossible.

"Oh sweetheart, of course. Of course. We already have," her mum said and Hermione looked up. There was her mum, somehow still crying with an expression of guilt on her face, as if upset with herself for making her daughter question her love. And beside her was her father looking…proud? Of her, of what she'd done. And her heart swelled for them both as they enveloped one another in the best hug Hermione had ever shared.

When they finally let go, Hermione asked to be excused for a moment. She'd noticed both Gibbons and Arnie had slipped out at some point during the reunion, though she hadn't noticed when. She found them sitting on her parents' porch with her trunk.

"Thank you," she said as they stood, giving first Gibbons and then, after a moment's hesitation, Arnie a hug. "Thank you," she repeated.

Arnie grinned widely and Gibbons nodded. "We'll leave you to it then," said Gibbons. "We've got instructions to keep an eye on you, so one of us should be around every day or two to check in. Just let us know if you need help getting back to England."

"Or with anything else," said Arnie suggestively and Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled a little, too happy to be disgusted.

"I will," she told them both.

"Any, uh, messages you'd like to send back to England?" asked Gibbons.

Hermione tilted her head and looked at him strangely. She wasn't sure why, but the sudden question struck her as odd. Or maybe it wasn't the question itself, but Gibbons, who seemed a bit nervous when he otherwise had always been calm and in-control.

"I'm just saying," he continued, "I can get messages back to England much faster than an owl or Muggle post if you need to get word back to anyone waiting to hear from you."

"Ron," Hermione whispered quietly to herself. It had been almost a full day since she'd thought about him and three since they'd said goodbye to one another. She should let him know. Speaking more loudly, "Actually, yes. Could you wait one moment?" Gibbons nodded and she ran back inside, found a pen and paper and scribbled off a quick letter.

_Ron,_

_I've found my parents and managed to undo the memory charm. But they've started a new life here and I'm not sure when they'll be ready to return to England, and I have so much left to explain to them. So I've decided to stay with them, at least until we figure a few things out. Give Harry and Ginny and the rest of your family my best. I'll talk to you soon._

_Love_

_Hermione_

She looked at the word above her name and was reminded once again of their awkward parting. Why was it so easy to sign to a letter but so hard to tell him out loud to his face? She addressed the envelope, slipped the letter inside and brought it to Gibbons.

"Thank you both," she repeated. Gibbons took the letter and nodded.

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><p><strong>AN: **The title of this chapter comes from the song "Ends of the Earth" by Dirty Three off their album _Ocean Songs_. It's especially fitting since they're an Australian band.

For those of you who smartly commented on the fact that the horcruxes were mentioned in front of hundreds of people during Harry's fight with Voldemort…well I don't exactly have an explanation for that. First, horcruxes are mentioned exactly once in that fight in passing and right at the beginning. Neither Harry nor Voldemort even discuss them after that, let alone mention the name again. Considering the revelations that followed about Dumbledore, Snape and the Elder Wand, and how little both Harry and Voldemort dwell on the matter, I don't think it's too far-fetched that a single word 95% of those listening wouldn't have ever heard before would remember when all was said and done.

Of course a few people would recognize it (McGonagall, Slughorn, maybe another teacher or two or a few aurors, possibly some of the remaining death eaters), but I think they'd all know not to say anything except perhaps some of the remaining death eaters, and they need to be hunted down anyway.

As for people hearing the word for the first time, remember, most of them aren't Hermione (well none of them are Hermione except for…well, Hermione) and they wouldn't pour through entire libraries and dark arts books searching for the term since we know they are an incredibly rare piece of magic. There is exactly one book still at Hogwarts that mentions horcruxes but doesn't explain anything about them. You might be able to find a mention of them in a place like Borgin and Burkes, but again I think the likelihood of someone hearing the word clearly (yes it was dead silent during their duel, but with hundreds of people around, I doubt those in the back could hear clearly when Harry and Riddle weren't shouting), being curious enough to try and find out what a horcrux was, and clever enough to know where to look.

Second, I'm kind of ignoring a lot of that conversation for another reason. I believe that Harry and Riddle's dialogue during the fight is just poor writing on Jo's part (sorry Jo, you are pretty amazing and a far better writer than I can ever dream of being, but you're not perfect). Harry's speech while fighting Riddle is a classic convention in stories where the hero or villain (usually the villain) reveals his master plan to his opponent for no real discernable reason except that the writer wants the reader to know what's going on/has already happened and why things play out as they do. But I do understand why she did it this way. The only other options were to have Harry and Dumbledore discuss it while at King's Cross—which honestly would've been the best choice in my opinion since that entire chapter was more or less exposition for the sake of the reader—or have us confused until Harry met up with Ron and Hermione after the fight and have him explain it then.

I am a pretty big canon freak and I don't want you guys thinking I'm just going to ignore anything from the books that I don't like (that's basically what every fanfic writer that still ships non-canon pairs does after all), but this is something I feel NEEDS to be ignored and it doesn't even have anything to do with the horcruxes.

The Elder Wand is mentioned during that fight as well. But it's mentioned repeatedly, and Harry even explains how it works to a large extent. Yet in Dumbledore's office Harry seems fairly confident that he can manage to go through life without getting disarmed and I don't really see how that's possible. I mean Harry would at least get disarmed every once in a while during practice duels right? Even Neville managed to disarm Harry during D.A. fifth year and we all remember what Neville was like back then, right?

And you'd think that if it was widely known that he was the master of the Elder Wand, he'd have tons of people after him for the rest of his life. Yet he isn't worried about it at all. So for the sake of not having dark wizards (or even ordinary wizards that are a big power hungry), I'm pretending that everyone in the Great Hall was more focused on watching the duel and less on really listening to what they were saying to one another. As for figuring out how Neville doesn't become master of the Elder Wand when he disarms Harry during auror training, well I'm not sure how to explain that just yet. But I'll figure out something.

So yes, I'm taking the easy way out and simply ignoring these plot holes in both mine and Jo's stories (though in my fic, everyone does find out about the horcruxes eventually anyway, so I'll be dealing with that soon enough). But good on you guys for calling me out on it. Feel free to do so in the future.

End of ridiculously long author's note.

"You keep safe Miss Granger," said Arnie tipping an imaginary cowboy hat to her before they both Disapparated. Hermione took a deep breath, let it out and went back inside her house, her hope, her new home, and smiled.


	6. CH5: Smoke and Mirrors

**A/N:** Okay, so first, I just want to say that we now have a beta! The lovely superfan24 has kindly agreed to work with me on 'Closer', which means you should see a marked improvement in the chapters starting next time.

Second, I want to say that I will never hold a chapter ransom due to a lack of reviews, or give up on this story because it's not as popular as I'd hoped. I write for myself first, and you guys second (which I think is the way it should be for all writers). But today is my birthday, (and I'm laid up in bed sick) and it would be awesome if a few more of you guys out there that have this story on alert left a review. It takes me weeks to plot out each chapter and usually three to four days to actually write it. But all it takes is a minute for you to leave a review and it would be the best birthday present. But even if you don't, I promise I'll never ask for reviews like this ever again. Thanks again.

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Smoke and Mirrors<strong>

_11 August, 1998_

Hermione hadn't expected such a raucous party celebrating the clearing of her, Ron's and Harry's names and Ginny's seventeenth birthday party. All of the remaining Weasleys were there including Bill, Fleur and Charlie, along with Neville and Luna, Andromeda and little Teddy, who wasn't looking quite so little anymore, Percy's girlfriend Audrey, and Hagrid. Even Professor McGonagall had shown up, finally giving Harry the chance to thank her for coming to his defense during the trial.

It was nice to finally get a chance to enjoy being back at the Burrow after all this time. After Kingsley assured Ron and Harry that the goblins knowing about the cup was not an issue since they couldn't even use that kind of magic, and Hermione was forced to confess that she'd gotten Narcissa's cooperation by agreeing to come to her and Draco's defense when their own trial came up—though Hermione had been careful to make no such in regards to Lucius—they'd settled in and managed to keep things light and happy. Of course the party wasn't exactly perfect; Mrs. Weasley disappeared back up to her room shortly after Ginny's cake was brought out and Arthur had soon followed, only returning an hour later. George stayed, but didn't say much, and when Hermione had tried to sit and talk with him, one whiff of his goblet had confirmed that it wasn't pumpkin juice he was tossing back.

And of course, there was Ron. When he had first shown up in Australia, she hadn't known what to expect, or really what to say. So much had changed since she left, and while they'd both said things, done things, that couldn't be taken back, she knew the responsibility of explanation rested on her shoulders. But it had been so wonderful to see him, to talk to him, to feel his arms around her when he hugged her, to feel the stubble on his cheek when she kissed it, that she'd been excited to come back to England. But then she'd arrived and he'd avoided her, the same way he had before she left. He made sure they were never alone and even when they were in a room full of people together, he seemed reluctant to address her. All throughout the party he remained withdrawn, staying in the kitchen preparing the food, only joining the party outside to bring out this dish or that or to usher in a newly arrived guest. The only time she'd seen him smile had been when Ginny had opened his present: a pair of earrings with miniature Quaffles hanging from them. They were completely tacky, but Ginny had laughed at them and hugged her brother tightly anyway.

Now, she was sitting with Harry, Ginny, Neville and Luna. They'd talked of the coming school term, on Hermione's time in Australia (though the details she chose to share were rather limited), and on Luna's recent travels with her father. Neville, who had already begun a crash course in Auror training, was talking to Harry about what things he'd been learning and what the two of them expected to face when they became certified in December. She also noticed Neville and Luna appeared to be sitting _together_, and wondered if Harry and Ginny weren't the only couple present.

"Excuse me Miss Granger, but might I have a word?"

Hermione recognized Headmistress McGonagall's voice immediately. "Of course Professor," she said, standing and excusing herself from her friends. She followed the older woman as they walked toward the edge of the Burrow, growing slightly nervous as they walked in silence.

Finally McGonagall turned. "Now Miss Granger, am I to believe that you still intend to return to Hogwarts for the start of term on September first?"

Hermione let out a sigh. She didn't know what she'd expected, but she'd learned long ago that when your headmistress or headmaster wanted a word, it rarely meant something good. "Yes, of course I do."

"Good. Then I am happy to give you this." McGonagall handed over a large Hogwarts envelope which she began to open immediately. "Unfortunately, as you have been out of the country until now, we were unable to send it to you earlier. But at least this way I get to see your reaction in person." Hermione was about to ask what she meant by 'her reaction' when she found a gleaming badge inside the envelope, emblazoned with the letters HG.

"Is this…"

"Congratulations Miss Granger. Inside you'll find a list of duties, as well as a list of things to discuss during the first prefects meeting on the Hogwarts Express."

Hermione had wanted this badge for seven years. When she'd known she, Ron, and Harry weren't going back last year, a part of her had been disappointed that she'd never get the chance to be Head Girl. But now that she had it, it didn't seem like such a big deal.

"Thank you Professor," she said simply.

McGonagall must have picked up on some of Hermione's indifference. "Is something the matter Miss Granger?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, not at all professor. I just…I was just wondering if you could tell me who is Head Boy." For all she knew, it could be Ron, and though he'd once told Hermione he didn't want to become Head Boy, she wasn't about to make the same mistake she'd made three years ago when he received his prefect badge.

"Andrew Davies in Ravenclaw." Hermione knew Andrew to be Roger Davies younger brother. He was in Ginny's year and had been made prefect during Hermione's sixth year and also played on Ravenclaw's Quidditch team, though she couldn't remember what position. While he didn't quite have the same reputation with girls as his older brother, she remembered him getting invited to a number of Slug Club functions—though he hadn't stood out enough to keep his membership in the long run—and his being rather handsome.

"So Ron didn't…?"

McGonagall fixed her with a somewhat pitying look. "Mr. Weasley? No. He most certainly would have been a leading candidate, but he has made it clear that he does not want the job."

"Well thank you again, Professor," she replied, flummoxed with the answer to her question.

"It's my pleasure." McGonagall smiled, and not her usual thin smirk but a full-fledged smile. "I'll be very happy to see you back in the halls at Hogwarts. It's a shame I won't be seeing you in Transfiguration class this year." Hermione smiled back. "Unfortunately I have to be going. Please tell Arthur and, well, tell Arthur thank you for the hospitality." She gave Hermione one last look, turned and Disapparated.

Hermione stuffed the badge and letter into a pocket and rejoined the party, though when she did it was with a more somber demeanor. She watched the others laughing and eating without joining in. At one point she saw George slip off and Disapparate beyond the Burrow's wards and watched Ron come out of the house, march to the spot George had disappeared from and follow suit. She had no idea where they'd gone or why, so she stayed put until everyone began saying their goodbyes and finally helped Harry and the Weasleys clean-up afterwards.

An hour later Hermione was standing alone in the backyard of the Burrow waiting for George and Ron to return. She was headed back to Australia in the morning, this time traveling by airplane so she could bring Crookshanks with her, and wanted to have at least one genuine conversation with Ron before she did so. She'd been so busy with preparations for the trials that the distance between them hadn't been her biggest concern, but that had changed the night before once everything was taken care of with the goblins. She'd tossed and turned all night knowing Ron was asleep in his room just a few floors above her. She'd even considered sneaking up there to join him, before she was reminded of the last time she'd done that and how disastrous everything had turned out.

"What are you doing out here?"

Hermione jumped and turned around to see Ginny. "I was just looking for Crookshanks. I haven't seen him in a while and wanted to bring him inside before it got any darker."

"Probably up in Ron's room," Ginny told her. "He spent a lot of time up there after you left. I think they might actually like each other these days."

Hermione smiled. Trust the two of them to finally learn to get along when she wasn't around to see it. "I'm sorry Ginny, about not getting you a present." With being in Australia and the trials, she hadn't even thought to get Ginny anything until yesterday. She owed Harry a present as well for that matter, and an explanation of his own.

Ginny simply waved her off. "You helped my brother and my boyfriend stay out of goblin prison," she joked. "And just having you back is the best present I could get."

The two girls hugged. They'd grown so close during fourth and fifth years, but between Hermione's trouble with Ron and Ginny's relationship with Harry during sixth year, the Horcrux hunt, and her time spent in Australia, she'd somehow felt her friendship with the girl she'd almost come to see as a sister slip a little. It was wonderful to see Ginny wasn't begrudging her anything, and was looking forward to finally be in classes together.

She thanked Ginny, resolved to buy her a few products from Madam Primpernelle's when she visited Diagon Alley, and went back inside to climb the stairs to Ron's room—a place she hadn't seen since before she left. She remembered Ginny's words and felt a pang of envy toward Crookshanks, wishing she was on as good of terms with him as her cat was. But maybe the pretense of looking for Crookshanks in Ron's room and waiting there to speak with him would give her the perfect chance to try and change that.

She reached the top of the stairs and opened the door, smiling at the sight that greeted her. Ron was so trusting. Ginny, she knew, had placed a number of charms on her belongings the moment she had arrived at Hogwarts and could use magic, ensuring that her private things remained private from her brothers. And Fred & George, for all their openness, had always been rather secretive when it came to their room while they'd lived at the Burrow, and Percy even more so. But not Ron. His door was open and his entire world lay about as if on display. A pang of guilt hit her with this thought, but she quickly brushed it aside.

For all the trouble he'd given her over the years about seeing only the good in people and trusting too much, he was the one who read like an open book, exposing himself to the world. But she didn't mind the comments he'd directed at her. The truth was she was just good at reading people, knowing who could be trusted and who couldn't. She had been right about Snape in the end after all. And she'd certainly been right about a pair of boys she'd met on a train seven years before, even though one of them had done his best to take every opportunity to be rude to her in the beginning.

No, Ron was the real softie. Yes, he'd hated some people like Snape and Malfoy and even some less obvious individuals like Zacharias Smith, Viktor Krum, and Michael Corner. But he was just so open. He couldn't lie to save his life, rarely even thought to try—and this in spite of having Fred, George, and Ginny as siblings.

As she picked through his room, telling herself not to feel guilty since he would have put away anything private, she was happy to find it as big a mess as ever. After watching him this past week and all the things he was doing for his family, the responsibility he shouldered, it was a comfort to see that he hadn't changed so much that she could still recognize him as the boy she she'd met on the Hogwarts Express with dirt on his nose.

But she wanted more reminders of him, more confirmation that he was still the same as always. There wasn't much else to do as she waited for him to come back, and who even knew when that would be? Absentmindedly, she began tidying up a bit, reminding herself very strongly of when she'd packed away everything she could think of into her tiny beaded bag that would serve as their home for the next year.

At one point she was surprised to come across a pair of jeans with a few sickles still in one pocket. Ron was messy and could be rather careless with his things, but she'd never seen him be careless about handling money, especially his own. So she took the coins and decided to stash them in a drawer in his bureau for safekeeping. But what she found already waiting inside drove all thought of the money from her mind.

Immediately she knew what she'd found, even before her eyes finished taking it all in. Here in this drawer were Ron Weasley's most precious possessions. Well, his most precious possessions besides his broomstick which sat propped in a corner looking remarkably well-kept despite the shabbiness of the rest of the room. She'd stumbled across this drawer the previous summer when packing for their Horcrux search, and just as before, felt compelled to sift through the contents. She hadn't spent much time looking through them before; the things inside were sentimental in value and rather impractical to bring on their adventure, but now she could peruse at her leisure.

The first thing to draw her eye was the large binder with the words 'Chocolate Frog Card Collection' written on the front in what was unmistakably a much younger Ron's messy scrawl. Without opening the binder, she continued looking. There was an old Chocolate Frog box, long empty, which she found a rather peculiar thing to keep considering the thousands he'd probably eaten in his life. There was a folded piece of parchment which she opened. Across the top, Ron had written 'Strategy.' At first she assumed it would obviously have something to do with Quidditch tactics, but as her eyes scanned the frayed document, her eyes lit up at what it revealed and a most un-Hermione-ish grin spread across her face.

_Strategy_

_1.) Get Money (Fred & George)_

_2.) Become Quidditch hero_

_3.) Prove to her that I have a brain_

_4.) Stop being such a prat_

_5.) Get advice (Sirius)_

_6.) Show her that I know she's a girl_

_7.) Tell her I fancy her_

It was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen. Apparently he'd tried to update it as time went on. Step one had been crossed out, with the note 'Fred & George' written beside it. Step two had been crossed out, rewritten, crossed out and rewritten yet again, probably after each success or failure while playing Quidditch at Hogwarts. Step three only had a question mark written beside it. Step four had been underlined vigorously but was otherwise untouched. Step five had been crossed out and the name Sirius written beside it.

But step six had apparently been the one he'd focused on the most, because its notes were far more expansive. Squeezed underneath it but above step seven (which she noticed remained untouched as well) he had written several ideas, quite possibly suggested by Sirius thanks to step five. The words 'Flowers' 'Chocolates' 'Perfume' and 'Jewelry' had been crossed out, leaving only 'Lingerie' as the sole gift he had presumably not given her in an attempt to show that he knew she was a girl.

She ran her fingers over the parchment and was sorely tempted to stuff it in her pocket, but reluctantly set it atop the bureau and continued searching. Next, her eyes landed on a stuffed teddy bear, presumably the same one which Fred had once transfigured into a spider and immediately corrected herself: the fact that Ron had kept his teddy bear was definitely the most adorable thing she'd ever seen.

There was the watch he'd received for his seventeenth birthday, a certificate for his Award for Special Services to the School, the Deluminator he'd received from Dumbledore which now appeared to have a rather large crack running down the middle, a small stack of letters she saw were from Harry and herself held together with a rubber band, the Omnioculars Harry had bought him at the World Cup, a ticket stub from presumably his first Chudley Cannons match judging by the date on it, his O.W.L. scores (she took a certain pride in thinking he treasured this item in particular for her sake), Charlie's old wand which he'd broken second year, the clipping from the Daily Prophet when the Weasleys had won the drawing and used the money to vacation in Egypt, and three photographs.

The first was one of Fred & George with Ron standing between them holding the Quidditch Cup. It had obviously been taken at the end of fifth year because Ron's arms were still bandaged from the injuries he'd received at the Ministry. She didn't know when the twins had come to see him, or how she hadn't known of their visit at the time, but she had never seen Ron look happier for having done something not even the twins could laugh at him about as he beamed at the camera while his brothers shifted their faces from smiling for the picture and casting proud if fleeting looks at their little brother.

The second was one of him and Harry at the Burrow, which if she had to guess, she'd place during the summer before second year when Harry had come to stay with the Weasleys for the first time. The two of them looked filthy and had obviously been up to no good, but they each had an arm draped over the other's shoulder as they shoved one another playfully with their free hands. It was wonderful to see them display such open closeness, and it did not escape her thoughts how big of a deal it had probably been for these two boys to express their feelings for one another so unabashedly. And no matter how different they looked in appearance, Hermione would dare anyone to take a look at this picture and not recognize them immediately as brothers.

The third was the most surprising. For one thing it wasn't a wizard photograph, but a Muggle one. And it was of Hermione, just her, and no one else, not even Ron. And even stranger, it wasn't a picture of her from school or from her times spent at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. In it, she was much younger, and dressed in Muggle clothing, sitting on a pile of leaves, a rather large book in her lap, and a smile on her face that was missing a front tooth. Why did he have a picture of her from when had been a child, years before he'd even met her? And why was it so crumpled compared to the other photos that seemed immaculately preserved for being in Ron's possession? And most importantly, how had he gotten his hands on it in the first place?

As she continued looking, she thought about how the contents of the drawer had multiplied since last summer. Most things she remembered having been there at the time, but the pictures and the parchment with Ron's "strategy" certainly hadn't been there before, and of course neither had the Deluminator. But the biggest surprise was the addition of the broken locket that had once contained a piece of Tom Riddle's mangled soul. They had given the remains of the locket, cup and diadem to McGonagall to keep or dispose of as she saw fit when they'd explained the Horcruxes to her and Kinsgley. She knew he hated the thing; hated what it had caused him to do. So how did Ron still have it? And why would he ever want it?

"What are you doing?" Ron's voiced asked from somewhere behind her, interrupting her thoughts and causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.

"Oh I was just…looking," she answered rather guiltily, her cheeks rather warm, fully aware that she had been caught with her hands in the proverbial cookie jar. Quickly, she placed the items she'd removed back into the drawer and slid it shut, hoping that her blushing had gone down somewhat as she turned to face him.

"I mean why were you going through my stuff?" he said. He was smiling, holding Crookshanks in his arms, but there was an edge in his voice. He was upset, and rightfully so, she admitted.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident. I didn't mean to snoop." It wasn't exactly a lie. She had found the drawer by accident the first time.

He shrugged, and she saw some of the tension leave him. A good sign she thought. "Sure you did. But it's not like you haven't done it before."

She thought about telling him how she'd only meant to put his money away for safekeeping, but it was a flimsy excuse. "I was just waiting to talk to you."

"You were?"

"Well, I was actually looking for Crookshanks," she began. She heard Ron snort and mutter "of course you were" under his breath, but ignored him and continued. "But everything's been so busy since I've been back; we haven't really seen each other. We haven't really talked."

He didn't say anything in response. "Is George alright?" she asked finally.

He shrugged. "'S'pose he'll be fine. At least until he wakes up tomorrow with another hangover."

She nodded. "Oh here," she said, extending her hand offering the sickles she'd found to him.

"Merlin, you don't have to pay me to forgive you. It's not that big a deal. You've been through my pants before. There really isn't much that's still private between us." He was smiling again and joking, but his attempts at both seemed halfhearted.

_But it doesn't feel like it_, she admitted to herself as she thought over his final words. "No, they're yours. I just found them," she said, offering the silver coins to him again.

He took them and passed her Crookshanks before glancing around the rest of the room as he stuffed them into his pocket. "You've been tidying up in here haven't you?" he teased.

"Just think of it as an opportunity to mess this room up again," she teased right back while stroking Crookshanks, hoping that if they continued in this vein, things between them would start to feel more normal, less forced. "You should really keep a better eye on your valuables."

"I know where everything important is. And you seem to be keeping an eye on them for me anyway, so I guess they're doubly safe."

"I don't remember seeing a lot of that stuff when I was packing your things last year." She felt a little too bold in saying that, but there was no sense in denying that she'd been looking through his most precious things, so it couldn't hurt to ask about them.

"You remember Harry's moleskin pouch that Hagrid gave him for his birthday last year?" She nodded. "Well he got me one as well. Gave it to me while I was in the hospital wing. I stashed some stuff in there when it started getting close to the time for us to leave. Kept it with me all the time after that until we got back." Well that made sense. She wanted to ask more specific questions—not about the locket which she knew was a touchy subject even when Ron was in the best of moods—but about the picture of her and the list of Strategies, but was afraid to make the situation more uncomfortable and decided to let the silence stretch out.

"So."

"So?"

"You said you were waiting up here because you wanted to tell me something."

"Oh, yes. Of course." She had almost forgotten her reason for being there in his room in the first place. But where to start? How to fit everything that needed to be said into one conversation? "Thanks for taking care of Crookshanks while I was away. I haven't thanked you for that."

He shrugged. "He looks after himself, mostly. Didn't have to do much."

"Ginny tells me he sleeps up here a lot."

Ron narrowed his gaze and Hermione wondered if he was upset with her, or with Ginny for telling her. "Yeah, well, he slips in if I leave the door open. And it's a pain in the arse to get him out once he's settled in for the night. Got the scratches to prove it."

He rolled back his sleeves and showed her the faint lines that had yet to fade away over the last week. But his actions also showed her the more permanent scars from the brains at the Ministry, as well as revealing the tiny little white crisscrosses she knew were from her canary attack in sixth year. The sight made her speak up.

"Would you mind waiting to go to Diagon Alley until I get back from Australia?"

"Diagon Alley?" Ron asked, clearly confused as his mind tried to process the change in topics.

"To get our school things."

"Oh." He didn't look at her, focusing on his arms as he rolled his sleeves back down. "Well the thing is…I'm not going back this year."

"What?" She hadn't meant for it to come out like that, but she hadn't expected that answer at all. "But I thought you decided you weren't going into the Aurors with Harry. Or did you change your mind?"

He shook his head. "No. But it's not like those are my only choices."

_Weren't they?_ She had been relieved when he'd turned down Kingsley's offer months ago, happy that he wasn't throwing himself right back into harm's way, and had just assumed that like her, it was because he planned to go back to school this term. But now that she thought back, he hadn't mentioned anything about school at the time, nor had he spoken up when McGonagall was talking about the new year during the party earlier. She'd just assumed that he'd go back to Hogwarts with her, because that's what she'd expected, or at least wanted. No, she _did_ remember him talking about wanting to go back to Hogwarts. But that had been ages ago, at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and a lot of things had changed since then. She wondered when he'd made this decision, if he knew the moment he turned Kingsley down or if it was something he'd decided during the months she'd been gone.

"Well, what will you do instead?" she asked, trying to make her tone sound curious and not accusing.

Ron shrugged. "Who says I have to do anything? I'm a bloody hero aren't I? You'd think helping Harry destroy Riddle would earn me a break."

Now she was irate. Ron always had a lazy streak, but he also had ambition. He'd improved his studies a great deal during their last two years and had certainly wanted to find his own path, something he could call his own that didn't already belong to someone else in his family. And he'd certainly shown moments of pure brilliance once he rejoined her and Harry after their brief separation. "So you're just going to lie about doing nothing? How long do you expect to be content with that sort of life?"

"And I suppose you know what you want to do with the rest of your life?"

"No," she huffed. "That's why I'm going back to school to figure out my options and make sure I'm prepared for all of them."

Ron shot her a look of disbelief. How could he still read her so well when his thoughts were now hidden from her? "Come off it, you know you'd be prepared to be Minister of Magic if someone asked you to start tomorrow. We all saw how well you handled those goblins, and the Wizengamot. And you've probably already memorized all your texts for seventh year anyway."

Despite herself, Hermione felt a flush of excitement at Ron's faith in her. Unfortunately, it was unwarranted. She was woefully behind in her preparations for school. In fact, up until a week before he, Harry and Ginny had shown up in her parents' drawing room, she'd been considering leaving the magical world—his world—forever. But that wasn't something she wanted- couldn't- get into at present. It would only lead to more questions, some she wasn't sure she could answer at present. Still, a part of her knew that the subject would need to be broached if she ever wanted to explain her behavior.

"Don't think I don't know you're trying to change the subject Ron Weasley. We were talking about you and your plans, not mine."

Thankfully he smirked, and it was the old one that she fell in love with. "You were always too smart for me." _He's still joking, but for some reason the words sting_. In the past, those words would come with a bitter scowl and a ring of truth behind them, tempting her to argue back, to sing his praises, tell him that she wasn't _too anything_ for him, except perhaps too crazy for him for her own good. But even though the words were the same, she didn't feel that same pull to stop that sort of talk. They both knew the truth, so what need was there to speak it?

Ron sighed as if preparing himself to relinquish something precious. "I'm working at the joke shop."

Hermione was taken aback. That wasn't what she was expecting. "With George?"

He laughed. "Have you seen George? He hasn't worked at the shop in over a year."

"But he knows?"

"Of course he bloody well knows. What's the matter with you? It's his shop. I wouldn't take that away from him."

"Then…"

"He comes by once or twice a week, pretends to look things over, makes some crack about how he keeps expecting to see the place in the same state as my room, then leaves."

She mulled over his words. Ron had never expressed a desire to work in the twins' shop. If anything, she'd have staked her entire reputation that Ron would never do anything remotely similar to the careers his other family members found for themselves. Then she thought back to George; he seemed better than before she left, but he was still too withdrawn, spending half his nights away from the Burrow, and most of his time spent at home cooped up in his old room. And it was then she understood.

"Oh Ron, you shouldn't have to do that. You don't need to put your life on-hold to help out George. You should be doing what you want." _Provided it's nothing as dangerous as being an Auror,_ she added in her head.

Until then, Ron's words may've had an edge to them, but he'd kept his voice down. But when he responded, she could tell he was close to yelling. "This is what I need to do. You don't understand." Actually, she _did_ understand, much better than he realized. But again, she couldn't quite speak of _that_ just yet. "Besides, I'm not putting my life on hold. I'm living it." It didn't sound like a lie, but neither did it ring true to her ears, either. "I'm sorry if working in my brothers' joke shop isn't the glamorous future you saw for me. Not that it's really any of your business."

She was having none of that. "I've never cared what you did. I've only ever wanted to see you be happy."

"I am happy." The words sounded like a sort of challenge.

"Are you?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Ron said, his voice returning to its earlier near-whisper.

She had the answer to this one but couldn't say it.

"Well I'm leaving tomorrow."

"I know."

"And I'm still going back to school."

"Of course."

"And I'll need to come back a few days before the start of term to get supplies and everything."

"Right."

"And I'll be staying at the Leaky Cauldron when I do."

The last one surprised a reaction out of him, though it wasn't quite the one she'd hoped for. Actually, Hermione's words surprised her as well. She hadn't been planning on staying at the Leaky Cauldron. When making her departure plans, Arthur had told her she was more than welcome to stay with them again before term started. But the idea just came to her and she instantly felt it was the right choice. She couldn't stay at the Burrow if she and Ron were only going to avoid each other or get into arguments. And if she told him the whole truth about Australia, about why she'd stayed, she thought it a good idea to have a place to retreat to. She hoped he'd ask why she didn't want to stay with his family, so she wouldn't have the excuse of hiding the truth from him, but he just gave a curt nod.

"So maybe we can have lunch when I get back since we'll both be in Diagon Alley?" Get lunch? They'd never had to get lunch before, or at least never had to make plans to do so. "To talk and…catch up."

Ron almost sneered but reigned it in at the last second. "Sure. Our chats are always fun. And we do have a _lot_ to catch up on, don't we?"

Hermione felt like crying, but just smiled. "We do. Well, I'll let you get to sleep. I guess you'll be going back to work tomorrow." It was only half past eight, but she couldn't put up with the air between them now for a second longer, and wasn't yet prepared to say the words that might help clear it. Ron nodded.

"Well, goodnight Ron."

"Goodnight."

They both stood there for a moment looking at each other, daring the other to say more, to make the first move, to keep the moment going, but Hermione turned first and walked out of the room and down the stairs to Ginny's. She could hear the other Weasleys still in the kitchen as she quickly dressed for bed and climbed under the sheets without bothering to go back to brush her teeth. Quickly she turned to set the alarm for the morning and noticed the clock read ten past nine. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered how she lost forty minutes in Ron's eyes.

_30 August, 1998_

A fortnight later, Hermione was waking up in a bed in the Leaky Cauldron, her sheets strewn about after a night of restless sleep. After washing and dressing for the day, she realized she'd been back for three days and still had not made good on her promise of lunch with Ron. Not that she forgot about it for a moment. Her first day back, she was so exhausted from packing and traveling that she didn't leave her room after checking in. The second, she spent wandering about, taking in the feel of being back among a world that felt more familiar to her than the one she'd left behind with her parents. She'd already made the decision to return to Hogwarts before she returned for the trials, and she'd sat down to talk with her parents explaining her need to go back and finish her education.

They'd been more than understanding, in part because for the first time in four years she'd spent quality time with them, reveling in their time together rather than merely existing in the same place as them while she waited to go back to where she really belonged. But the real reason Hermione knew they were so understanding was because they'd seen her make the effort to really leave the magical world behind, and for the first time in their lives they'd seen their perfect daughter fail at something, seen that despite her best efforts, their world wasn't hers anymore. So the last two weeks there were filled with savoring every moment she had with them.

But now Hermione was back and she wouldn't see her parents again until Christmas. Yesterday she'd gone shopping for everything she needed for the coming term, which had taken no time at all, despite her attempt to read the day away in Flourish and Blotts. And now she was alone with Crookshanks and her books and things with nothing to do. She couldn't even bring herself to begin preparing for the coming term. Every time she opened a book, she couldn't concentrate on the words in front of her.

She'd known she couldn't go back to school without talking to Ron, without trying to fix things between them. But how could she possibly set everything right in just a matter of days? It was an impossible task, and one she wasn't looking forward to. So instead she'd stayed with her parents longer than expected, and wasted the last three days, putting off seeing him. Part of her thought it was connected to her fear of failure, that she knew things were unfixable, so she stayed away from him, creating the excuse that when she failed, she could blame it on there simply not being enough time.

She'd thought she'd have the whole term, the whole year, to make him see, make him understand her side of things. Now she only had two days. And even though the task before her now seemed insurmountable, she would face it head on, if only to see his face again before she left.

So after breakfast in the Leaky Cauldron, she set off in the direction of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, ignoring everything and everyone she passed, completely focused on her destination. Outside the shop, she paused for a moment to compose herself, smoothing out her skirt before pushing the door open.

Her eyes found Ron immediately upon entering. While she'd seen him dressed up before—most notably at Bill and Fleur's wedding and more recently for Fred's funeral and the Ministry trials—she wasn't used to seeing Ron dressed sharply, looking every bit the part of a successful businessman. He was hunched over the counter, helping an elderly witch to check out. Apparently he sensed her presence as well for he looked up and met her with his eyes. She smiled and waited as he put the witch's purchase in a bag and told her to have a nice day. As soon as they were finished she walked right up to him.

"You're back," he said. She waited a moment for him to add something more, but that was it. Not the 'I missed you' she'd dreamt of or the 'How are you?' she'd hoped for or even the 'Hi Hermione,' she thought she deserved at the very least.

"Yes," she said, figuring it was her only response. Before either of them could say more, a short, jittery wizard with a ridiculous pencil-thin mustache swooped down on them.

"Mr. Weasley I was having some trouble with the…Oh sorry I didn't know you were with a customer. My apologies."

"It's Ron, Patrick. And she's not a customer."

Hermione waited a moment for Ron to make the introductions, but when it became apparent that none were forthcoming, she stuck out her hand to the man named Patrick. "Nice to meet you. I'm Hermione Granger."

The man did a double take. "Merlin's beard! You are, aren't you!" he exclaimed. "Oh I'm sorry, Miss. That was terribly rude of me."

"It's quite all right."

"It's just, you're just not what I pictured. Harry talked about you all the time, you see."

Hermione looked at Ron and raised one eyebrow, mouthing the word 'Harry?'

Ron shrugged. "He was around a lot when the shop reopened. No one knew our inventory or what all the products did besides me, so I needed all the help I could get and Harry lent a hand," he said, completely misreading her intent as to why Patrick had heard about her from Harry and not from Ron himself.

Patrick clearly looked like he wanted to bombard Hermione with questions, but Ron headed him off by asking what he needed.

"Oh I was just having some trouble in the back with the Pygmy Puffs."

"I'll be back in a minute to help," Ron said.

"Thank you Mr. Weasley," said Patrick before he scurried off. Hermione heard Ron mutter "It's Ron" under his breath and had to suppress a smile. It also didn't escape her notice that Patrick had had no trouble calling Harry by his first name.

"Listen I can't leave just yet, so if you want to go ahead—"

"I don't mind waiting," Hermione spat out before Ron could send her away. "I'll just look around the shop, Mister Weasley," she told him, emphasizing the last two words.

"Doing some recon on what sorts of tricks and gadgets you'll be confiscating this term, Miss Head Girl?"

"How did you…I only told my parents."

Ron grinned. "Who else would it be? 'Sides, I told you before they wouldn't dare give it to anyone else. The badge has your initials on it and everything." She smiled back at him. "So am I gonna have to worry about the sizeable dent you'll be putting in my business?"

"Think of it like this: every time I confiscate a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product, they have to order another to replace it."

Ron laughed and nodded at her before hurrying to the back of the shop.

Hermione turned and walked around the shop, occasionally picking up WWW products and pretending to examine them while actually looking at customers out of the corner of her eye. There weren't many people inside the shop, and even fewer that looked Hogwarts age. She guessed most students had all ready done their shopping since tomorrow marked the start of term. Soon Ron returned from the back, but before she could speak with him, she saw the witch Fred and George had hired to be their assistant. Verity, she remembered as she watched the attractive woman show Ron a clipboard, the two of them going over whatever it was that seemed so important. As she spied on them, she noticed Verity touching Ron's arm occasionally as they spoke, leaning into him as she pointed out details on the clipboard. Hermione gave a slight huff and turned adamantly back to the shelves, refusing to watch Verity try to flirt with Ron. She just had to trust Ron was still thick enough not to notice the witch's interest in him and, she reminded herself, she didn't have the right be jealous even if he did.

Most products she recognized from visiting the shop before sixth year, but there was one section of items she didn't remember, and began to examine them more closely.

The first that caught her eye was something called Tracking Chews. Each package came with ten chews and a small compass-looking object. She read the description on the back.

_Tracking Chews_

_Have annoying pests buzzing around you like gadflies? Got a girl you want to stalk, or worse, a girl you don't want stalking you? Slip them a Tracking Chew and you'll always know how near or far away they are. Once ingested, just check your included Tracker to find whether they're lurking nearby. The Tracker shows you any friends, crushes, or enemies within one kilometer of your current location and gives you their exact distance away accurate to the centimeter. Note: Tracking Chew effects only last for two weeks after ingestion._

It was actually a pretty impressive piece of magic, reminding her strongly of a simplified Marauder's Map. She set the package back down and continued browsing.

There were notebooks packaged together in pairs that apparently transferred whatever was written in one to the other, allowing users to pass notes in class without worrying about slipping something to your friend under the watchful eyes of a professor, small wristbands that grew hot when you were late for class or forgot to do your homework and supposedly displayed what exactly you'd forgotten, and school bags with undetectable extension charms so you could carry as many books at once as you needed without needing a pack the size of a hippogriff. There was even a thing called Canned Canaries that when opened would conjure a flock of little yellow birds that would peck and pester the opener. She had to smile at that last one, wondering who had told the twins about her attack on Ron sixth year to give them the idea.

"You like what I've come up with?"

Ron's voice startled her. She turned to face him, slowly processing his actual words. "You mean you invented all these?"

"Always the tone of surprise." It was their old joke, but inwardly she scowled. He wasn't just working the shop, wasn't just filling in and keeping the place from going under. He was adding his own touch to the place, making it better than ever. Would everyone always underestimate Ronald Weasley? Would she?

"They're brilliant," she told him, beaming. "I never knew you had such brilliant ideas.

"Plenty of them," he said confidently. "I just keep 'em to myself usually. Easier not to disappoint people if they don't expect a lot from you. And you don't get much credit for brilliance when everyone knows you're a genius. But you know all about that."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. For years at school she'd held back compliments and praises from Ron, in part because he usually found a way to twist them around until he made it sound like she'd insulted him, and partly because she was afraid he'd catch on to her repressed feelings for him. That was until last year, when Ron had started to compliment her at every possible opportunity and she'd followed his lead, more than happy to let him know how she really felt, and how highly she thought of him in return. But now she was back to second guessing everything she said around him, worrying about making another misstep. How could they have come so far together to be put right back in the same holding pattern circa fifth year?

"Anyway," Ron continued. "I can't really take full credit for all these. I only came up with them because of you. I got the idea for the bracelets from those homework planners you got Harry and I fifth year, and the notebooks came from the coins you made us for Dumbledore's Army."

"And the Tracking Chews?"

The tips of Ron's ears turned red when he answered her. "Well remember how Harry used Dobby and Kreacher to spy on Malfoy sixth year? Well I remembered how much that bothered you, and how grumpy you got whenever I used you to help me hide from Lavender. I just thought these would be easier. Not everyone has house-elves at their beck and call, or a friend like you…" he trailed off.

Hermione felt both pleased and embarrassed that the inventions Ron had come up with all seemed to relate back to her in some way.

Apparently, Ron was thinking along the same lines. "Err, maybe I should be offering you a portion of the profits or something," he joked.

She shook her head. "They weren't my ideas. Even if they started that way, you were the one who did all the work and turned them into something completely unique."

"Well they may not have been your ideas, but you were definitely the inspiration for them."

Hermione knew she definitely blushed at that one, and had to look away for a moment to regain her composure.

"Listen, I just need to run to the office real quick, then we can go all right?" And he was off before she had time to respond. They met up at the front door and walked out together into Diagon Alley which was much busier than it had been earlier when she'd first come in.

"So, where to first? Flourish & Blotts?" Ron teased as they strolled.

"Actually, I got all my things for school yesterday."

Ron nearly tripped midstride. "Of course. Books and school first, friends and everything else comes second." She opened her mouth to explain but he was already apologizing. "Sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just been busy at the shop since term's starting soon. And it didn't help that I took all that time off for the trials and everything. Put me way behind with our owl order service and the bookkeeping," he said, holding up a folder he'd been carrying since coming back from the office.

"It's all right. I only got in yesterday," she lied. "And by the time I was settled in it was getting late and I didn't want to bother you after a day at work, so I figured I'd get my shopping done. That way we'd have more time to relax together."

"So what're you hungry for? Fish and chips? Soup? There's a little place just up here…"

Hermione listened as Ron went through every restaurant in Diagon Alley, though having just had breakfast, she wasn't exactly hungry.

"Maybe just something light," she told him when he'd finished.

He looked at her, his face screwed up in disbelief. "I thought you wanted to get lunch?"

"I did. I mean I do. It's just…I just ate breakfast a little over an hour ago."

Ron checked his watch. Apparently he wore a watch now. "You had breakfast at half past ten? When you were planning to meet me for lunch?"

"I wasn't thinking."

"I mean I didn't even know you were back until you showed up at the shop today. I mean, what the fuck? You set all this up and now you're saying you're not hungry?"

He was practically yelling, and several people on the street turned their heads to look at them. What Ron was saying was right, and made her feel like an idiot, but that didn't mean she was going to let him make a scene. "Ron. Will you keep it down? If you can't control yourself, I'll…"

"What? You'll leave again?"

She was taken aback and had to hold in her tears. "Ron, don't. Please."

"Please? Please what?"

"Can't we just get a drink or something?"

"Fine. Sure." And he stomped off into the nearest pub without checking to see if she followed.

She found him in a corner booth and took the seat across from him. They didn't speak until the waitress came by. Hermione ordered a gillywater and Ron a butterbeer.

"You should order some food when she comes back if you're hungry," Hermione tried offering once the waitress had left.

"'M fine," muttered Ron. He put the folder he'd brought from WWW on the table and opened it, beginning to scan the papers inside, occasionally marking something down. This left Hermione to sit and watch, drumming her fingers on the table impatiently. Even after their drinks came, Ron didn't seem any more willing to talk to her, and she decided if she didn't want to waste her time she would either have to speak first, or simply leave. And the second was not an option in Hermione's mind.

"I wanted to apologize." Ron's eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath his fringe. "I didn't mean to insinuate that you were doing something wrong the night before I left the Burrow. What you're doing for your family is wonderful Ron, and I don't just mean with the shop."

"Is that all?"

She was taken aback. Ron had learned how to apologize when he was being an arse, but apparently still hadn't learned how to take an apology. Did he want her to apologize for going through his things again? Or did he mean… "Well I…"

"Forget about it. S'no big deal."

Yes, she was sure he wasn't thinking about their awkward conversation at the Burrow two weeks previous. He meant Australia. Obviously not all of it, he couldn't _know_ all of it. But that notion really wasn't of much comfort and she had to say something. But Ron spoke again before she had the chance to decide exactly how much to tell him and how to go about doing it.

"So how was Australia?"

"It was fine. You know I hadn't seen my parents much the last few years so it was nice to spend time with them." This was harder than she thought. She didn't want to lie about her time in Australia, not to Ron. She owed him the truth, but with Ron, the truth was rarely the easiest thing to admit.

"Must've been for you to stay there so long."

"It was less than three months. Only a little longer than the usual summer holidays."

"Yeah but when was the last time you spent a whole summer with your parents?"

"When was the last time I sent my parents to hide halfway around the world with modified memories?" she retorted. This was hard enough without Ron making things more difficult.

Ron softened a little after this, looking a bit guilty. "I still would've thought you'd write."

Damn. Couldn't she just stick to either guilt or anger, rather than constantly having to flip between two emotions? She'd written him exactly one letter and had purposely not included a return address, which made it impossible for him to contact her. Yes, Ron was partially at fault for their separation, but her decision not to write had made a bad situation a thousand times worse. She wanted to apologize, she _needed_ to, but how could she explain the reason he never received a second letter was because she had been trying to abandon not only magic, but him as well?

"Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go so long without writing. I honestly planned on writing you, but I was so busy and I just kept putting it off and before I knew it a month had gone by and then I didn't know what to say. I knew you'd be angry and I didn't know how to explain. It just…happened." That was the truth, though obviously not the whole of it. She had gotten caught up with repairing her relationship with her family. And then she'd tried settling into life as a Muggle after a year of using magic for nearly everything, and by the time she knew it, it had been too long without communicating with Ron, and everything in her life had become a thousand times more complicated.

The things she needed to tell him weren't the things you put in a letter; they were the things that required a face-to-face conversation. And the thought of writing to him while leaving all those things out of her letters would've just felt like lying. Which, she supposed, is exactly how she currently felt since she still hadn't explained any of it.

"What were you so busy with? I mean I understand you had a lot of mending fences and catching up to do with your parents, but they have jobs down there, right? So you must've had loads of time to yourself when they were busy with other things." His words weren't just questioning. They sounded like a challenge. Ron knew she was holding things back. She knew how much he hated secrets. He was probably more upset about that than anything.

She wanted to tell him, she did. But she needed to know if there was even a chance for them to get back together before she confessed and hurt him further. If he couldn't forgive her for staying in Australia those months, for not writing to him, then there was no point in asking him to forgive her for planning to stay, for trying to move on.

"It's not that I was just sitting around, like on holiday or anything. I had a job, and I read and explored the city my parents were living in. And it's not like they expected me. And I didn't bring much with me either and most of that was stuff from our trip last year. I had to go out and buy new clothes and furniture and everything."

"Shopping? You were too busy to write because you were shopping?" Ron asked incredulously.

"No," Hermione huffed. "I'm just saying it was a contributing factor."

"What did you do? Your job I mean."

Hermione almost didn't want to tell him now that she knew what he'd been up to. "I was a waitress in a café." Ron blinked then started laughing. "Oh ha-ha. I'm glad you find it so amusing."

"Sorry," Ron gasped between laughs. "It's just when you said you had a job, I expected, I don't know, you to be rewriting Australian bird law or saving orphans or something."

"Yes, well, we can't all be running our brother's joke shops, can we?"

The look on Ron's face told her she should've just let him go on laughing at her. It wasn't just anger she saw, but that bitter disgust she'd only seen in him while wearing the locket. But in a moment, it was gone. "Well, I'm sure knowing magic helped you out a lot at work in case you dropped or spilt something."

"Actually, I didn't use much magic while I was in Australia," she said, testing the waters a bit.

"Why not?"

She bit her lip. She was a coward. "Well obviously I wasn't going to use magic around my parents, not after I'd used it on them without telling them—"

"They didn't make you stop, did they?" Ron interrupted.

Oh how easy it would be to blame everything on her parents. But the truth was while she knew her Mum would rather not lose her only daughter to a world she'd never understand, she'd never ask Hermione to choose. And her father was actually quite proud of the fact that she was a witch. "Don't be silly. Of course they didn't. I just didn't feel comfortable waving my wand around all the time after what I did to them. It was actually…nice, to go without magic."

Ron looked like he didn't believe her, but didn't pursue the subject. "So everything's really okay with your mum and dad? I mean when I…when we didn't hear from you, I thought maybe your parents were angry and keeping you from writing at first. I thought maybe if I'd gone with you, or Harry, we could've helped explain, helped them understand."

Hermione smiled for the first time since they'd left the shop, though it was a sad smile. It was nice knowing Ron regretted sending her to Australia alone. It'd been something she'd spent weeks wondering about after she left and finally she had confirmation. But knowing that didn't change anything. "I told you, they were angry at first, but they understand, or at least they understand the best they're able being Muggles."

"And they decided to live in Australia for good?"

"That's their plan for now at least. They have jobs and friends there now and they like Perth."

"Did you like it? Enough to go back when you're done at Hogwarts?"

The question took her off guard. For how ready she'd been to stay in Australia as a Muggle, once she'd decided to come back to the Wizarding world to finish her last year at Hogwarts, she hadn't really thought about where she'd end up after school. "I haven't really thought about it, but I think I'd stay here in England."

"Why?"

Again she felt like Ron was trying to get at something specific with his questions, but couldn't figure out what. "Well it's a bit more difficult to find a job abroad in the Wizarding world. I know Bill, Charlie and Fleur managed it, but usually your options are rather limited, and I don't want to narrow my possibilities before I decide what I want to do. And of course you and Harry and Ginny and everyone else are here."

"What, didn't you have any friends in Australia?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Ron it took me eleven years to make friends for the first time. Do you really think I had loads in Australia after a few months?"

He stared back at her for a moment. "No I suppose not." He downed his butterbeer, scooped up his folder and left a few sickles on the table. "Need to get back to work," he said, disappearing without so much as a goodbye, leaving Hermione sitting alone and feeling very disappointed in both herself and the encounter.

_31 August, 1998_

The next day she was back at the joke shop. She didn't go in, only looked through the window as Ron and the other employees bustled about. It was even slower than the day before, with only a few middle-aged witches mulling about and Hermione laughed at their attempts to flirt with Ron. Unfortunately, one time he looked toward the windows while she was mid-laugh and she didn't have time to duck out of sight before he spotted her. He excused himself from the witch he was dealing with and headed toward the door. Hermione began fidgeting nervously, telling herself running for it would only make the situation more embarrassing.

The shop door opened and Ron leaned out to look at her. "Are you just window shopping or are you gonna come in?" Seemingly incapable of speech, Hermione shook her head and followed him inside.

"I'm glad you stopped by," he said.

"You…you are?" Why was Ron being so nice, so friendly, after he'd stormed off yesterday?

He nodded. "Follow me."

He took her to the back where amid all the boxes marked WWW were three labeled with the name Granger.

"Thought there might be some things in there you'd want back before heading off to school. And I reckon your parents might like a few things back as well."

Hermione knelt down and opened one of the boxes, rifling through the contents. "You…you kept all this?" She couldn't believe it. Thought she hadn't known it at the time, Ron had been watching her house at the beginning of last summer before she sent her parents away and came to the Burrow. And when she'd thrown out everything that linked Wendell and Monica Wilkins to John and Caroline Granger or their daughter Hermione, Ron had done his best to salvage as much as he could, storing it in the attic at the Burrow.

"Well I wasn't going to just chuck everything after I went through the effort of saving it."

Hermione stood up, her eyes definitely moist, and threw her arms around Ron. "Thank you, Ron," she whispered into his chest." She felt his arms wrap around her in turn, and though he didn't hold her as tight as she wanted, the sensation was wonderful.

When they broke apart Ron told her to go through the boxes and sort out what she wanted to take to Hogwarts and what she wanted sent to her parents in Australia.

"You're going to ship these boxes to my parents by Muggle post?"

"Sure," said Ron enthusiastically. Then, seeing Hermione's doubtful expression, "Well I'm sure Harry will help me. Listen I've got to get back to work. You just stay here and I'll check on you in a bit."

And then she was left alone with her childhood things. There really wasn't much she planned to take to Hogwarts and she spent more time reminiscing than actually sorting until Ron eventually returned.

"All done?" She nodded. "Is that all you're taking?" he asked, pointing towards the smallest box which was still half empty and looking inside.

"Yes," she said haughtily as he withdrew a Chudley Cannons quilt from the box, snatching it from his hands and stuffing it back in the box. "What? It gets quite cold at Hogwarts in the winter."

Ron just laughed. "'Course it does. Here I'll help you take it back to the Leaky Cauldron." Hermione thought about saying she could manage it on her own quite easily, especially with a wand to help, but felt pleased that he wanted to help her. Everything had been going so well.

"Do you need me to give you my parents' address in Australia?"

"Nah I remember it," he told her.

On the way back, they stopped for ice cream. Apparently Mr. Fortescue's nephew had reopened his uncle's parlor and gave them a pair of sundaes on the house, though Ron helped Hermione finish hers.

"So is your family coming to King's Cross to see Ginny off tomorrow?" Hermione asked once they'd reached the Leaky Cauldron.

Ron nodded. "Reckon it's a big deal, what with Ginny being the last of us and all."

"So I'll see you tomorrow?"

Ron smirked. "You never know," he said wryly.

"Ron. I…" He looked down on her, his smile disappearing, replaced with soft concern. Everything today had seemed so perfect, so right, so much like old times that Hermione couldn't help herself. She stood up on her toes and kissed him quickly but forcefully on the lips, tasting the syrup and vanilla on his mouth. Without waiting to see his reaction, she grabbed the box from his loose grip and ran inside the inn, blushing more fiercely than a Chinese Fireball as her lips tingled from kiss one-thousand-sixty-four.

_1 September, 1998_

Harry released her from a tight hug, telling her not to get into too much trouble without him and Ron this year. Before she could reply, Mrs. Weasley scooped her up into her usual start of term hug goodbye, which was still as tight as ever. The older woman didn't say anything, but gave her a smile that could melt ice.

She waved goodbye to the other Weasleys and made her way onto the Hogwarts Express with Ginny on her heels. Ron hadn't shown up to say goodbye to her or his sister. Harry had given some lame excuse about his being needed at the shop, but after seeing it the last two days, she doubted there had been an emergency that he couldn't get away from for an hour or so. Hermione only wondered if her actions the previous day had given Ron second thoughts about coming to the station or if it'd been his plan all along.

The two girls found a compartment where Hermione could stow Crookshanks and the rest of her things while attending the prefects meeting. As Hermione changed in her school robes, she decided to ask a question she'd been holding in since first seeing the Weasleys on the platform.

"Ginny, why do you have Pig?"

Ginny shrugged. "Ron gave him to me." Hermione's eyes widened. "Well okay, no he didn't _give _him to me. But he's letting me borrow him for the year."

"But why? Doesn't Ron need him?"

"He told me last night he didn't. Said he didn't have anyone he wanted to write to, and he figured I'd want to write Harry all the time and Pig would be easier than using a school owl. And the shop has owls for their delivery service so if he really needs to send post to anyone, he can always use one of those."

Hermione nodded. On the surface, giving Pig to Ginny seemed like an innocent gesture of brotherly compassion. But to her, it was a message. _He doesn't have anyone he wants to write to_, she repeated to herself, _including me_. All summer she'd made it impossible for him to send her any letters and now that he knew where she'd be at all times, he'd given away his owl.

Ginny must've sensed Hermione's inner misery. "You know, Harry actually got me something for my birthday that works better than an owl." Hermione just nodded. "So I won't need to use Pig all that often, at least not to talk to Harry." Hermione nodded again. "So he'll be free a lot of the time." Hermione nodded again. "So maybe you can borrow him when you need to."

Hermione's head snapped up at this. "What?"

Ginny grinned. "Well Pig could use the exercise. I'm sure Ron won't mind, as long as you aren't planning to send letters to Bulgaria or anything." Hermione made a face, but inwardly was rejoicing. Just because Ron wasn't going to be writing to her didn't mean she couldn't write to him. Maybe this was a test, a chance to show that she wanted things to be different from Australia. Maybe talking to Ron would be easier if she didn't have to stare into those eyes that made her feel guilty and special in equal measure. Maybe...

"Hermione?" Ginny's voice broke through her train of thought. The red head's expression was full of concern. "Are you and my brother okay?"

Hermione didn't even know how to go about answering that question. Luckily Luna and Dean joined them at that moment and she was saved from having to respond. After a quick hello to her fellow classmates she slipped out, fixing her Head Girl badge to her robes and headed toward the prefect's car.

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><p><strong>AN:** The chapter's title comes from the song "Smoke and Mirrors" by the Magnetic Fields off their album _Get Lost_.

I had no clue about students in Ginny's year for potential Head Boy candidates and Harry Potter wiki gave me a student named Andrew who had been in the dueling club during the trio's second year. I made him a Davies because of the _HBP _film where McGonagall tells off a Davies for trying to sneak into the girls' lavatory (and this couldn't have been Roger since he'd graduated the year before). The only students in Hermione's year going back to school with her are students that didn't get to attend their 7th year because they were in hiding for being muggle-born or of unknown blood status, which means Dean is the only other that gets mentioned by name in the books and maybe Justin Finch-Fletchley


	7. CH6: Don't Let Our Youth Go to Waste

****A/N:**** Thanks to **superfan24** for being such an awesome beta and editing this chapter and getting it back to me in a matter of hours so you guys wouldn't have to wait any longer than necessary.

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Don't Let Our Youth Go to Waste<strong>

_6 May, 1998_

Ron was sure he would never be able to explain how it'd happened. One minute he'd been punching his best friend and storming off in a rage, and the next he'd found himself being devoured by Hermione's mouth. When she'd followed him to his room he thought she would yell at him, maybe even hit him, certainly make him go and apologize to Harry for what he'd done. Instead, she'd told him how proud she was of him. Hermione was proud of him. For punching Harry.

He'd never understand this woman.

He'd actually opened his mouth to tell her how mental she was, but that was when he'd started crying. He didn't know why. He hadn't cried at the funeral so why was he crying now? And of course it had to be in front of Hermione. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd cried since he was ten and Hermione had been there for all of them. Well, she hadn't been there for the locket—or at least the _real_ Hermione hadn't—but almost all of them.

But she didn't seem to mind. She was holding him and whispering things he couldn't really process. And slowly those soft kisses turned hungry, her gentle touches became claws raked across his skin. And then she'd been touching him, touching _it_, for the first time.

In some part of his mind, some very, very distant and miniscule part that he rarely used, Ron realized Hermione probably wasn't acting this way because she suddenly found him irresistible. She'd never had a real boyfriend before. Hell, if he believed her—and after Krum and Lavender, Ron couldn't imagine them ever lying to each other about things like that ever again—she'd only had a few kisses with Krum and a single snog that amounted to something more like an unsolicited groping with McLaggen before him, whereas Ron had had months and months with Lavender. This kind of touching was all still new to her, and just as when Hermione came across anything new, she wouldn't stop until her curiosity was satisfied.

Not that this was exactly old hat for Ron either. Yes, he and Lavender had more snogging sessions than he cared to remember and yes, they had done other _things_. But holding Hermione's hand was better than anything he'd ever done with Lavender. Hermione could make him blush with just a look, could set his heart racing with just the sound of her voice, and her touch was like fire so hot he was sure his skin would be charred to the point that he would never be able to feel anything ever again after she let go.

Which he supposed was why he came to be half lying on top of Hermione, the both of them panting, his trousers undone and sliding halfway down his thighs, the skirt of her dress bunched around her waist, her knickers pushed aside giving his fingers access to…

Bloody hell, he'd just made Hermione Granger cum! A ridiculous idea, really, yet there they were, Hermione sweating and flushed, Ron's finger still inside of her. He didn't really know where to go from there. Fuck, he'd only touched her there in the first place to distract himself from what her hands were doing to him. Yet in the end it seemed Ron Weasley's powers of concentration were greater than hers, not that anyone would believe him.

_Not that I'm ever telling anyone about this_, Ron told himself. Slowly he extracted his finger and raised himself up enough to look at Hermione. Her chest was still heaving and it seemed like it was taking forever for her eyelids to open and shut as she blinked in slow motion.

Disturbingly, Ron recalled something Charlie had mentioned offhandedly at Bill and Fleur's wedding, something about how one of the best places to find a girl ready and willing to snog was at a wedding, because it made birds feel vulnerable and lonely and desperate to find a man.

"And the only place better than a wedding is a funeral," Charlie had said knowingly. How his brother knew this, Ron had no idea, but he'd listened with rapt attention. "Funerals remind birds they're going to die someday. And that makes 'em want to live now, makes 'em want to feel alive. And the best way for a bird to feel that is to find herself a bloke who can make her…" Here, Ron forced his brother's voice out of his mind. When Charlie had said these words at their brother's wedding, he probably had never imagined his youngest brother would be testing that theory at the funeral of yet another brother. But looking down at Hermione, she certainly looked alive, and he couldn't really argue with Charlie's wisdom.

Is that what Hermione was doing with him? Trying to feel alive after all the funerals they'd been to the last few days, after all the reminders of death and her mortality, after nearly losing Harry? For that matter, was that what he, Ron, was doing with her as well? Just using her as a distraction to think about something other than the fact that Fred was gone, gone and never coming back? If he was, it wasn't working. Fred was invading his thoughts at the one time he absolutely _shouldn't_, and Ron wished him away, feeling sick with himself for doing so.

"You okay?" he asked her with great difficulty. He felt like he'd eaten a ton-tongue toffee. A string of unintelligible syllables escaped Hermione's lips. Apparently she was having even more trouble speaking than he was. He smiled. He'd actually made Hermione Granger speechless. He felt like he'd won both the House Cup and Quidditch Cup single-handed, like he'd gotten his picture on a chocolate frog card.

"Merlin you're gorgeous," he told her. This was apparently the right thing to say because Hermione just blushed and smiled a little. He cupped the side of her face to pull her toward him for a kiss, but she shied away from his hand.

"Hermione?" he asked, confused.

"Sorry," she said, breathless, "it's just your hand. It's still…"

Still? Oh. Right, his finger, well his whole hand really, was coated with…essence of Hermione. He moved his hand away from her, bringing it closer to his own face. And then he could smell it, smell her, and he had no choice but to slide his damp fingers into his mouth for a taste.

In that moment, when his tongue savored her salty fluids, he finally realized why he was able to stuff himself silly with an endless assortment of foods and sweets and always feel hungry for more: he'd been hungry for this, for her. No wonder nothing else satisfied him, since there could be nothing else like this in all the world.

After that there was no stopping him. Ron gripped Hermione by the waist, pulling her up the bed while he slid himself down. Distantly he heard her utter a squeak of surprise and a string of words questioning what he was doing, but he wasn't listening. He needed more, needed to taste her, to devour her.

Positioned exactly where he wanted to be, he slid his hands up her calves, raising the hem of her dress once more. He leaned in and planted a soft, wet kiss on her stomach half an inch above her knickers. He felt her shiver slightly, and grinned. She was probably still hyper sensitive after her orgasm. He wondered if he should even go through with what he had planned, if it was too soon for her, but inwardly shook his head. There was only one way to find out if she wanted it. He kept his lips pressed to her skin, dragging them across her flesh before kissing her again in the crevice where he leg joined with the rest of her. And then again and again. He knew his target, his eventual destination, but moved toward it in no discernable pattern. Meanwhile his hands roamed over her backside, one cupping her bum, the other sliding to the small of her back which she was now arching slightly.

Her questions had stopped, her words disappearing into silence, with only the soft ruffling of clothes and sheets, the gentle smacks of Ron's lips on her skin, and the occasional whimper or sharp intake of breath from Hermione breaking the silence. And then, after kissing her navel, his tongue flicking inside to tease her, he ducked his head and kissed her mound through her knickers. Instantly he was rewarded with a gasp and a buck of her hips, which was exactly what he'd been waiting for. Utilizing that small gap between her and the bed, he lifted her higher with one hand, his other sliding her kickers down her legs, removing the last obstruction in his path.

He tossed the scrap of cotton aside and returned his eyes to the juncture of her legs. Unsurprisingly, she'd crossed them doing her best to maintain her modesty. Her hands were scrambling, trying to push her dress back down when he grabbed her by the wrists, pinning them to the mattress.

"Ron." He looked up to her face and into those big brown eyes. He could see her fear, her hesitation, her embarrassment. But he could also see that she wanted this, maybe as much as he did.

"It's all right, Hermione," he said reassuringly. "It's just me." When still she hesitated, he tried once more. "Please, Hermione."

He reached up and kissed her hard. And that was it. He felt her hands still beneath his, felt her body lose some of its stiffness. He kissed her again and looked to see her eyes were closed. He moved back down her body, and slowly parted her legs so he could settle between them and finally caught his first glimpse of heaven.

It was only a glimpse however, because of the thick dark curls covering her mound. He'd known she'd be hairy. He'd felt it when he'd fingered her just minutes before, and in the thousands of fantasies he'd played out in his mind, he'd always pictured her with a mess of curls down there to match the ones atop her head, wild and untamed. And he'd been right. But he'd never expected a certifiable forest down there.

At least it seemed a lot like a forest in his limited experience. It was so different from Lavender. Not that he'd ever done with Lavender what he was planning to do with Hermione. But when he'd touched her down there, he'd always found her well groomed, usually shaved completely. Occasionally he'd come across some rough stubble if she hadn't shaved for a few days. And when he had, he'd found it exhilarating: the contrast of rough and smooth.

He heard a sound halfway between a squeak and a cough and realized he'd been staring. More than that, he'd been staring at Hermione while thinking about Lavender. He knew she was probably mortified but couldn't look her in the face, not then, with thoughts of Lavender still in his mind to make him feel guilty. So instead he nosed forward and kissed her mound again. He was surprised to find the hair was soft, not coarse like he'd expected, and it was matted down with sweat and arousal.

Ron started to panic. He had no idea what to do next. Yes, he'd gotten her off once already with his fingers, but this was new. Was he supposed to use his tongue or his lips? Both? And what about teeth?

Deciding that she'd been enjoying herself when he'd simply been kissing her, he decided to start there. Again he was laying kisses all around her, not daring to approach her lips, not yet. But his kisses were no longer gentle. His nose was pressed against her curls, her scent was burning his nostrils and each taste only spurred him on and soon he was nipping at her thighs, sucking hard on her flesh, knowing he would leave marks. And slowly he found his scattered kisses circling closer to his goal and finally planted a kiss against her folds.

"Ron. Oh...Ron," came Hermione's quiet voice. Merlin he'd thought it was something when he'd made her speechless. But hearing her moan his name pushed Ron into a frenzy. So what if he didn't really know what he was doing as he slipped is tongue between her lips, bringing his fingers into the mix to part her folds and give him better access? What he lacked in technique, he more than made up for with his eagerness to please her.

And please her he did; his broad tongue darting in and out of her or offering long licks along her sex in no discernable pattern. Of course it was soon made obvious by the way she was thrusting her pubic bone against his long nose that the small hard nub he could only find by touch was the place to concentrate his efforts. He couldn't linger and suck on it as he pleased; she was still too sensitized from earlier and Ron had to resort to soft teasing flicks around her nub instead of directly on it. Meanwhile his fingers pumped into her center, now stimulated enough to permit two of his large fingers.

Eventually he became aware that Hermione was trying to yank clumps of hair from his head as she tried to spur him on, pushing his face against her sex every time he came up to breathe. And finally, with one last swirl, and one more crook of his fingers she was coming again, and she was pushing him away, needing space to recover.

He could hardly breathe. He felt like he'd just run a marathon or had held his breath for an hour underwater. He knew he was covered with Hermione's fluids, but he found that he didn't mind in the least. He really didn't think anything could bother him in that moment.

But apparently, it could get better. Because he found himself being kissed by Hermione over and over as her fingers played lightly with his chest hair through the opened buttons on his shirt. They weren't particularly long or deep kisses—neither had the lungs for that at the moment—but they were wonderful all the same. He felt Hermione shifting into him more and more until suddenly she was actually on top of him, straddling his waist.

She sat up, smacking her lips lightly. "It's sort of sour, isn't it?"

For a moment Ron was too stunned to speak. "Thought it was sweet m'self," he finally managed.

"I think you're the sweet one," she said, looking embarrassed at her corny line, and Ron knew if she wasn't already so flushed, she'd be turning red. Merlin, he was mad for this woman. After everything they'd just done, she could still get embarrassed by paying him a simple compliment. It was the cutest thing he'd ever seen and he considered the possibility that someone had been slipping Felix Felicis into his morning pumpkin juice.

In this position he was aware that he still hadn't had the chance to relieve his own frustration, which was growing more pronounced by the second now that he could feel the heat radiating off of her, feel the shape of her through the fabric covering his cock. Apparently Hermione was quite aware of his state as well because he caught her glancing to the place where their bodies connected and saw the wickedest grin break out across her face.

"What?" he asked her thickly.

"Nothing," she teased. "I just think that you deserve a reprieve after all your hard work." He was about to open his mouth to stupidly tell her she didn't have to do anything, that he didn't expect anything in return when she rocked her hips, sliding her still-sopping pussy up his length. "I mean, you can't be expected to get anything done with _this,_" she rocked her hips again, eliciting a groan from his lips, "now can you?" The bloody woman was _teasing_ him. TEASING him! Not that he was doing the best job of appearing confident and in-control, as the rock of her hips caused her to shudder and flinch at the contact on her swollen pussy.

Not that Ron really noticed. He was trying to concentrate on forming the words to answer and NOT on the fact that she'd completely soaked his pants with her cum to the point that they were molded to his cock when he heard a knock at the door.

"Ron?" _Shite_. It was Harry. Ron had forgotten about everything that had been happening before Hermione came and found him in his room. Actually, he'd forgotten that there even was a world outside his room, but that knock brought him crashing back to reality.

Like lightning Hermione was off him, making her way to the door while trying to tie her hair back into some semblance of decency. Ron did up his trousers the best he could in his condition and re-buttoned his shirt, not even bothering to look for his tie.

Hermione glanced back to check to see that he was presentable and he nodded at her. She opened the door and there was Harry, a nice welt forming under his left eye which had turned a horrid shade of blue. "Oh, Harry," she exclaimed at his state, taking his chin in her hands to examine him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Hermione," he told her without looking at her. "I was wondering if I could talk to Ron for a minute."

She stiffened and Ron knew she was fearful of what Harry might do. Nevertheless, she released him and let him slip past her into the room. Ron, too, was nervous, not because he was afraid of what Harry might say or do, but because of what had been going on there just moments before. Behind Harry, Ron saw Hermione bend over and pick up her knickers from where he'd tossed them earlier. Harry turned, following Ron's eyes, and Hermione stood up, quickly hiding her hands behind her back.

"So, what did you want to talk about, Harry?" stammered Hermione.

"Err, I was hoping to talk to him alone actually. No offense," Harry added in a poor attempt at manners.

She glanced between the two boys for a moment, clearly torn between her desires to flee the possibly embarrassing situation and wanting to stay and make sure things wouldn't turn violent. Ron tried to let her know she could go with his eyes and she must have gotten the message because she finally relented, announcing that she was going to take a bath. She gave Ron one last look at the door that filled him with such longing and need that he felt no guilt in wishing he wasn't friends with Harry Potter—at least not for the rest of the afternoon—before she shut the door and the two boys were alone.

Harry took a seat not on the camp bed but next to Ron on his, and Ron was struck with déjà vu of when Hermione had sat down beside him only an hour ago. He looked down at his soiled sheets, soaked with sweat and Hermione's cum, and immediately felt himself grow hard again, cursing his body and wishing Harry was too angry with him to notice anything unusual.

"Are you alright?" asked Harry him.

"'Course I am," said Ron nervously. "What, don't I look alright?"

Harry eyed him for a moment. "Dunno. I guess. You just seem a bit off." Ron wondered what he meant. Was it because of how nervous he was? Because he'd just had his tongue buried inside Hermione? Because he'd buried his brother a few scant hours ago?

The last thought brought back his guilt and sadness and anger. "Yeah well I reckon I'm allowed to be a bit off today." There was silence, and then Harry scooted a bit closer. Ron felt weird about their close proximity. He and Harry weren't big on affection, at least not with each other, and it was odd especially after their fight earlier.

"Ron that's what I wanted to talk about. About before, when I…when you…"

And then Ron realized Harry was about to apologize to him and he burst out laughing. First Hermione tells him she's proud of him and tries to wank him off and now Harry was trying to apologize for letting Ron knock his block off. _Yup, the world has officially gone mad_, he thought.

Ron continued laughing, noticing Harry was growing angrier by the moment. "Sorry mate, it's just I couldn't let you do it," Ron finally managed to choke out in between laughs."

"Huh?"

"Were you really going to apologize?" Ron asked, still laughing softly.

Harry looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I guess I was."

"Why?"

"Well, you were right. What you said. I was…I was being—"

"Don't, Harry. Just don't." Ron had to cut him off. Finally serious, he looked Harry in the eye. He and Harry had fought twice before in all their years as friends, and Ron believed himself at fault on both occasions. Yet neither time had Harry made him, or even wanted him to, apologize. And though Ron still thought he'd been justified in striking Harry, he didn't want Harry to apologize for making such a thing necessary in the first place. He just wanted everything to be okay with his best mate.

They just looked at each other in understanding before they both cracked smiles and they began laughing. "So does this mean if I kick you in the bollocks, you'll give me your invisibility cloak?" Ron chuckled.

"Not likely mate."

"Maybe I should as a precaution anyway. Especially if you're going to be dating my sister again." Harry stopped laughing and Ron knew he was treading on dangerous ground. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean…"

"It's fine," said Harry forcing himself to sound jovial. "No problem."

Ron felt sorry for his friend. He had so little left in the world that brought him happiness, and now he was struggling to hold on to yet another piece that seemed to be slipping away. "Don't sweat it. She'll come around mate. She's been mad about you since she was ten. She spent years waiting for you to stop being so thick. No way is she throwing away all that time and effort."

Harry didn't seem to hear him. "Ron, can I ask you something."

"Uh, maybe?"

"How do you know you're in love with Hermione?"

Ron certainly hadn't expected that. He and Harry didn't talk about things like that. They never had, and once Ginny and Hermione had entered the picture he'd been sure they never would. "Who says I'm in love with Hermione?"

Harry rolled his eyes and managed to smile a little. "You did. You told me the other day, remember?"

_Not really_, Ron thought. When it came to Hermione, it seemed like things just sometimes slipped out these days without his meaning them to. "Harry, what's this about?"

"Just answer the question Ron."

He tried. He really did. He'd certainly spent enough time thinking about why he loved Hermione over the years. He could give a million reasons why he loved her. But what had made him realize it?

Well, Ron knew exactly what had made him realize it, or at least helped him realize it. But he couldn't exactly tell Harry to give the Mirror of Erised another try and see if he saw Ginny, not now that the mirror had been destroyed. Besides, that couldn't be the only way to know. His parents knew they were in love without the help of the mirror. The same for Bill and Fleur. So what should he tell Harry?

"You…I don't think you can explain how you know. You just…do," he said lamely.

"Oh that's deep Ron," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"Oi! That's the truth!"

"Oh, come on. Can't you give me something better?"

"Well…" Ron started, noticing Harry was leaning forward and listening with the same attention Hermione showed when studying for Arithmancy. "It's like…it's as if she's your only reason for living. No, that's not it. It's more like…bollocks…like you don't feel alive unless she's around, like you're sleepwalking through life unless she's there to wake you up," he said, remembering how he'd felt when it had been just he and Hermione up there, alone. "And you know she's the most important thing, the only thing. That her happiness is more important than your own, that your happy just because she's happy, and when she cries you wish you could take those tears away, even if it meant you had to cry them yourself. And when she gets up to leave the room, you miss her so much—"

"Okay, okay. Christ, I get it," said Harry, chuckling slightly. "I knew there was a reason we didn't talk about this stuff. Remind me never to ask you about Hermione again."

"Sorry," said Ron as he rubbed the back of his neck, his ears quite pink.

"So?"

"What?"

Harry shoved him. "Have you told her?"

"Told who what?"

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Sometimes, I really worry about you mate." Ron only looked at him in confusion. "Have you told Hermione that you love her?"

"Oh. No, I s'pose not."

"But you will?"

"Of course I will! Are you going to tell Ginny?"

"I don't know…I'm not sure if we're there yet."

Ron felt his anger rise and had to calm himself for a moment before speaking. Harry wasn't going to hurt Ginny, he was just confused, and Ron owed it to his sister to help. "How can you not be sure? You've been together longer than me an' Hermione!" _Well so much for not getting upset_, he thought.

"Mate, you and Hermione were together long before you were together." It made no sense, but somehow Ron understood. "It's just with everything that's happened this past year, with us splitting up before last summer, and everything now…with Fred."

Ron swallowed the lump that had mysteriously appeared in his throat. "Look mate, of course it's going to be hard on Ginny. That's what I was trying to get across earlier with the whole, you know…" Ron imitated punching Harry earlier. "Your job is not to rush things, and to make it easier on her if you can." Harry seemed doubtful. "Listen, that's Ginny's business. She'll figure things out, and she'll let you know what she wants. You just focus on straightening things out for yourself, because you are not going to string my sister along. So figure out how you feel and make sure she knows it."

Harry nodded, seeming a bit intimidated by Ron's seriousness. _Perhaps punching Harry would turn out to be a good thing in the long-run_, Ron thought.

The two friends sat there for a moment, both lost in their own worlds before Harry finally stood, reaching around to pat his bum experimentally, then glancing back to the bed. "Ron why are your sheets all wet? And…" he sniffed, "and what is that smell?"

"Uh…dunno," Ron said quickly, standing up. "But never mind that. Come on, we better get back downstairs and see if we can help with anything." He grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him toward the door, snatching up his tie from the windowsill as they left.

000

_9 May, 1998_

Three days later, Ron found himself lying in the field outside the Burrow feeling utterly content with Hermione's head resting on his chest and Harry and Ginny sitting together a short distance away. The past two days had been almost like a holiday, like the summers robbed from them the past three years by the war, by Riddle, by death.

He was in the best of spirits. Not that things were perfect. His Mum had hardly left her room since her breakdown the other day and George still hadn't so much as cracked a smile. But it was hard to think about such things. There seemed to be nothing more important than laughing and joking and simply being together. The four of them slept late in the mornings, spent the afternoons flying, and in the evenings, Ron rubbed Hermione's feet as she read while he kept one eye on his chess game with Harry and Ginny, though he wasn't sure if they actually worked better as a team or if he was simply too preoccupied elsewhere to play to his usual standards. And in between were those wonderful moments Ron spent alone with Hermione hidden away from the rest of the world. He couldn't help it. He couldn't remember ever being this happy, ever feeling so…so…_young_.

The Burrow had finally settled down. Bill and Fleur were still there, but Charlie had left the day before to go back to Romania, promising he would be back before the end of the month to check in. And Percy, who surprisingly announced his intentions to return to the Burrow, had left temporarily to get his affairs in order and move out of his flat in London. And having fewer people around made sneaking off with Hermione much easier.

After his talk with Harry the day of the funeral, things had been too busy to duck out of sight with Hermione for a second time, but she'd made things worth the wait the following morning.

After breakfast he'd gone to the loo to brush his teeth, when Hermione had appeared from behind the shower curtain, playfully scolding him for taking so long to eat.

"What do you mean?"

"I've been hiding in here for almost twenty minutes."

"Why would you—"

The rest of Ron's question was unnecessary as Hermione had stepped toward him and reached down to fondle him through his pajamas while sealing his mouth with a searing kiss.

He'd been shocked—SHOCKED—that Hermione would surprise him in such a manner. It had been incredible feeling her small, cold hands slip beneath his waistband and grasp him. She had no technique, and if his brain had been working Ron would've poked fun at her for not quite knowing _everything_. But honestly he was glad. He wasn't sure how he'd feel if Hermione had known what she was doing. Besides, her enthusiasm and desire more than made up for it. Technique, they could learn together in time.

But their liaison in the bathroom was nothing compared to yesterday.

Harry had gone to Ginny's room to talk, hopefully having worked out a few of the things he and Ron had discussed the day of the funeral, and Hermione had shown up moments later to give them some privacy.

"So what do you want to do?" Ron had asked hopefully as she joined him on his bed.

"Honestly Ron," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.

"No, I didn't mean…" Of course he _had _meant that, but as much as he wanted it, there was no way he was risking a row with Hermione. They hadn't quarreled in days. It might have even been a new record.

But Ron's attempts to deny the fact that he was a randy tosspot didn't matter because in the next moment Hermione had launched herself at him, smothering his body with her own, eliciting a small "Oomph!" from Ron as her weight landed on him. Apparently Hermione was as randy as he was, or perhaps even more so…after all this was the third encounter she'd initiated in as many days.

It was a scramble for dominance, the pair of them flipping each other again and again, a tangle of limbs and lips and laughs and it dawned on Ron why exactly they hadn't felt the need to row with each other lately. Unfortunately, this momentary epiphany was enough of a distraction for Hermione to pin him down, sitting on his stomach to weigh him down as she held his wrists.

Ron could have broken free, but for once he was the one with a plan. "You look like you're enjoying yourself."

"You know how much I enjoy coming out on top," she said, leaning over him so her curls fell and tickled his face, keeping her lips just out of his reach teasingly.

"So you like being on top when you come, do you? I didn't know, Hermione. Can't say I'm surprised," Ron said cheekily, causing Hermione to gasp out a scolding "Ron!" which gave him the opening he needed. His hands broke free of her restraint, buried themselves in her hair, and pulled her down, crushing their lips together.

_Phase one complete_, Ron thought, feeling rather pleased. He wasn't done yet, however. He was after something, something he had wanted since Hermione had hugged him back in third year, something that until now had been denied him.

He didn't try and wrest control back from Hermione, but let her take over their snogging, letting her enjoy the illusion of power, as she bit down rather hard on his bottom lip. Her hands were roaming across his chest, plucking at his shirt, trying to tug it off his body, which was impossible seeing as she was pinning his back to the bed. Finally getting the message he sat them both up until she was in his lap, her legs splayed to either side, and he found his shirt gone within seconds. She started to lean into him, trying to push them both down again but he stopped her.

"Wha—"

"Hermione," Ron said emphatically, glancing from her eyes down to her breasts and back again.

"Oh," she said, blushing. "I…I suppose that's only fair." Somehow Ron was disappointed. He didn't want her to take of her shirt because it would be fair. He wanted her to want it, to want to be touched as much as he wanted to touch her.

"You don't have to…" and just like that her shirt was off. He tried; really, he did. But it was impossible not to stare. They were small by anyone's standards, certainly when compared to Lavender's. But what mattered to Ron wasn't their size, but the fact that they were Hermione's. And they were perfect. Thoroughly uncomfortable under Ron's scrutiny, Hermione pressed herself to him again as they kissed, and this time Ron relented and together they fell back on the bed.

`Oh God he could feel them, so soft and yet so firm, flattened against his chest. With her shirt gone, he could feel the hard pebbles of her nipples through her bra and knew he needed more. Slowly he moved his lips from hers, kissing her cheek, then her chin, then her jaw, trailing kisses down to her throat, eliciting soft moans from Hermione. Thoroughly assured he had her distracted, Ron's left hand snaked around the back of her and, after a pinch and slide of his fingers, it was done—or rather undone. It was easy. For all the confusion girls brought to Ron Weasley, bras were one thing he innately understood. He remembered shocking Lavender the first time he'd deftly unclasped her bra, causing her to question where he'd learned such things until he had embarrassingly assured her he had no experience whatsoever.

As he continued to suckle on her neck, he slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders and down her arms as far as he could, before sitting the both of them up together again. And when she leaned back to look him in the face and ask what was wrong, she finally noticed her bra was undone and half off. And sure enough one glance downward offered Ron a glimpse of the edge of one rosy nipple. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand took the right cup of her bra and pulled, giving his mouth the access to her breast he so craved.

"Ron!" gasped Hermione, finally letting him know he wasn't in trouble for what he'd done. Encouraged, he finished undressing her from the waist up and pushed her back to the bed, claiming dominance for himself finally, palming both her breasts as he licked and sucked on her pale stomach, his hands rolling her nipples between his fingers, kneading her creamy flesh. He kissed his way up her stomach to her chest, kissing the valley between her breasts before he was met with a terrible choice.

The right or the left? How could he choose one over the other? It was like choosing…well…like choosing between Hermione's breasts. There really wasn't anything else to compare it to. Finally, though a small part of him died, he went with the left, trailing his tongue along the alabaster skin of her gentle slope and up until his lips closed on her puckered nipple, sucking and licking and biting.

Eventually he became aware of a tug on his hair. Hermione was pulling him away from her breasts, and toward her waiting mouth where their tongues met as she kissed him, and he kissed her back harder, trying to give as good as he got. And finally, in this position he could feel her heat pressed against his hardness, and couldn't help but buck his hips against hers. From the way she bit down on his tongue, Hermione had liked that as much as he did and he did it again and again, and soon they were rocking against one another, not quite in rhythm due to their desperation. And there was no time, no thought of removing more clothing as their mouths lost one another and Ron groaned in relief as he came against her. Relentless and desperate for her own release, Hermione continued grinding her center up and against his and he did his best to counter her, to give her the friction she needed and soon enough, she followed him over the edge, coming in a series of fluttering shudders and small gasps.

Just the memory of the encounter drove Ron mad with longing as they lay together in the field and he flipped over, cushioning Hermione's head with one hand as he settled on top of her and covered her mouth with his as she giggled into his lips.

Ginny gagged. "Merlin, they're disgusting, aren't they?" she exclaimed to Harry. "And I thought Bill and Fleur were the ones in their honeymoon period. But these two are worse."

Ron tore his lips from Hermione to glare at his little sister and toss her the finger without a trace of guilt. "Now you know how it feels," he told her. Hermione smacked his hand and grabbed his face with both her hands and forced him to meet her gaze.

"Ron," Hermione said sternly, reminding him of just how hard she was capable of hitting. He still hadn't forgotten the greeting he'd received upon returning to her and Harry during the Horcrux hunt.

Okay, so maybe it was a little insensitive to parade about with Hermione in front of Harry and Ginny when they were still working things out. But it's not like the situation hadn't been reversed a year ago, and it certainly hadn't bothered Ginny much back then when the shoe was on the other foot.

Thankfully, her expression seemed to soften immediately and melted into one of contentment, the same he saw on her face when she sat down with a brand new book. She reached up, cupping the side of his face, and smiled. And Ron was once more lost to a world where Ginny didn't exist. Merlin, how could he want to kiss her again already, feel that he needed to kiss her? How could anything else matter when he had the most brilliant, beautiful witch in the world lying beneath him, looking up at him adoringly? How could he…

Suddenly Hermione was flipping them over. "Hermione wha—?" She was leaning in. Perhaps she couldn't control herself any more than he could. But instead of planting another kiss on his lips, she flicked the end of his nose with one small finger. And before he could respond, she was pushing herself off his chest and running across the field away from him.

Without comprehending what was happening or why, he stood and gave chase. It was easy, even with Hermione's head start, for Ron to catch her. His long legs and a childhood spent playing in those fields gave him an impossible advantage.

Ron tackled her, lifting her up off the ground before they fell together into the long grass. "You're bad, you know that?" he told her, shifting her hair out of her face.

"Well I suppose as a former prefect, you can find a suitable punishment, can't you?"

_Cheeky witch_, he thought. He loved this side of Hermione, this side he knew no one else would ever see and was reserved only for him. He knew what she wanted. Which was why, instead of snogging her, he tickled her. Only it didn't work.

"You're not ticklish," Ron said after several minutes during which he failed to make her squirm even once.

"No I'm not," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "But I suppose you are?"

"Hermione," Ron warned. But it was no use. She was tickling his sides until he was laughing hysterically, unable to escape as he was pinned beneath her weight once more.

"Hermione…stop, stop….I give….stop….please" Ron gasped between laughs and Hermione finally relented. "You really are bad."

Hermione ignored this. "You know Ron," she started thoughtfully, "I'm not ticklish. But…" Ron thought for a moment before completing her sentence in his head_: but there are other ways to make her squirm._

He felt himself growing hard at just the thought and they were kissing again, Ron's hands snaking beneath the waistband of Hermione's jeans to squeeze her arse, sliding her against his leg.

"Ron," Hermione mumbled against Ron's lips, but he wasn't listening. And after he rubbed her along his thigh again, she wasn't either. Soon, she was grinding against him of her own volition, freeing his hands to move from her bum to her tits, sliding up her stomach to cup them, squeezing and pulling on them more roughly than he previously had.

He was just contemplating exactly how starkers he could get Hermione when he heard something or someone approaching them.

"Ron? Hermione? Fleur says she's got supper read—OH BLEEDING HELL!" Ginny's exclamation hastened Ron's hands out from under Hermione's shirt, but he didn't let her go, instead rolling them to the side so that his body shielded Hermione's from Ginny. "I didn't see anything. I swear." Ron wasn't sure if she was trying to convince them or herself. He turned his head around and saw Ginny was looking at the ground, shielding her eyes, muttering something under her breath.

"Thanks, Ginny. We'll be in…we'll be just a moment," Hermione said embarrassedly.

"Right. I'll just…I'll just leave you to it. I mean I'll…" Ginny didn't even finish her sentence but instead started walking back to the Burrow. Ron turned back to Hermione who looked positively humiliated.

"God Ron, that was just…just…"

"Fucked up?" Ron supplied helpfully.

"Absolutely mortifying," she said, shooting him a glare. "Honestly Ron, how could you? And out in public like this?"

"Me? But you…I wasn't…I didn't hear you complaining."

"How could I with your tongue down my throat."

Suddenly it struck him that Hermione had ran off, _wanting _him to catch her sooner rather than later, that their short game of tag had only been an excuse to put some distance between them and the other, less happy couple, had only been a means to get a little privacy. Which made Hermione as guilty as he was in this mess, as far as Ron was concerned.

_Even guiltier_, he reasoned with himself. There was no way she was blaming this all on him and playing the innocent victim. So he stood up, dusted himself off and tromped toward the house.

"Where are you going? This is not over Ronald!" Hermione shouted, but Ron simply ignored her.

000

Dinner was a somewhat awkward affair. Ginny was clearly too uncomfortable to look or speak to either Ron or Hermione, and judging by Harry's behavior, she'd told him in exactly what position she'd found her brother and best friend. Not that Ron minded. He preferred silence punctured by a few uncomfortable looks than the teasing his sister normally wouldn't hesitate to doll out if Hermione wasn't involved as well.

And of course, deciding that rather than give her the row she was looking for, Ron had taken a leaf out of Hermione's book and simply ignored her. He knew how frustrating he found it when she behaved as if he didn't exist and guessed that she'd find turnabout equally annoying.

And he was right. She did everything in her power to get him to cave, from tossing casual insults about Ron into conversations where they were not remotely relevant, to picking up dishes and moving them out of his reach, or passing them in the opposite direction around the table to delay Ron's gratification.

At first, it was infuriating, but soon his anger turned to amusement. It wasn't every day he saw proper Hermione behaving like a child. Soon, her death glares were only met by Ron's chuckles, which of course only fed Hermione's rage.

After dinner, Ron was busy asking Harry to a game of chess when Hermione seized his arm and dragged him into a cupboard.

"What are we doing in here?" Ron asked thickly.

"Having it out in private. I think our relationship has suffered more than enough _public_ _exposure_ for one day."

He didn't respond.

"Ron Weasley, you will stop ignoring me right now!"

"Or what?"

"Excuse me?"

"I stop ignoring you or what? You'll get angry at me? Blame me for something that's equally your fault? Been there, done that."

Hermione looked shocked, and Ron understood it wasn't because he was standing up to her—he'd been doing that for years—but because he had managed to remain calm and collected and kept an even voice while she was spitting mad. "You…you…"

"You know you drive me mad when you're like this," Ron said, maneuvering awkwardly in the small space to reach for her. "Your hair gets crazy and your eyes have this fire behind them and…"

Ten minutes, an assortment of compliments and a great deal of blushing later, Ron and Hermione were playing chess against Harry and Ginny, their argument forgotten, though he noticed she didn't sit as close to him as she usually did. Each time it was Harry and Ginny's turn, Ron would tell Hermione out loud exactly which move they were going to make next. While Harry and Hermione were both very amused by the situation Ginny was growing more and more frustrated by the second thanks to Ron's antics. At first, she moved other pieces just to spite Ron, but this almost always turned out for the worst and soon, she was doing exactly what he predicted she would do. Not that it made much difference. It only prolonged the inevitable.

After Ron and Hermione won their third straight game, there was a knock at the front door and a moment later, Bill ushered Kingsley Shacklebolt into the room. After a few short greetings, Bill excused himself and Kingsley sat down.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with you three?" he asked. Ginny, looking disappointed, moved to leave. "No, please stay. I'm sure they'd just tell you after I left, so I might as well save you the trouble of repeating everything."

Ron was wondering what the interim Minister of Magic could want to talk to them about when he withdrew two familiar objects from his cloak.

"My wand," Ron exclaimed, surprised. It was indeed his wand. His and Hermione's.

"We recovered these the day after the final battle when we raided Malfoy Manor and I thought you'd like them returned to you. Actually, we found plenty the Death Eaters had confiscated. Ollivander is helping us to identify them and return them to their owners." Kingsley offered the two wands and Hermione and Ron reached out and took them.

Just holding his wand again after weeks felt wonderful. It felt like coming home, and he understood why Harry had wanted to stick with his phoenix wand. Ron reached into his pocket and took out the wand that had formerly belonged to Peter Pettigrew. He flipped it around and offered it to Kingsley.

"Ah. I was wondering how you all made do after your capture," he said taking it. Hermione handed over Bellatrix's, obviously very eager to rid herself of the cursed thing. Ron had barely seen her use it since the battle. "And do you know who these belonged to?"

"Peter Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange," said Harry. "And I still have Draco Malfoy's. It's in my room, if you want it."

Kingsley nodded. "Well, seeing as Pettigrew and Lestrange are dead, these two won't be of much help, but the Malfoy boy's wand could definitely help."

"Help with what?" Ginny asked curiously.

"With the trials. We've got dozens of Death Eaters in custody and I'm doing my best to make sure they all wind up behind bars this time. And the more evidence we can gather against them, the better chance we have of making sure none of them walk free."

Ron saw a strong determination in Kingsley's eyes as he spoke. Ron really didn't know the man very well. He'd spent more time with Sirius and Moody as far as the Order went. But what he knew he liked and Ron felt confident that the man before him would make an excellent Minister of Magic, especially when compared to his three predecessors.

"Kingsley, you should know…the Malfoys…well Draco and Narcissa, they helped us, helped me." Although Ron, Hermione and Ginny had heard the story of what had happened in the Forbidden Forest and at Malfoy Manor, all eyes in the room whipped around to look at Harry. "Narcissa, she lied for me-,"

"So what," Ron interrupted. "You already had the magical protection or whatever on you because you sacrificed yourself. You-Know…Riddle couldn't have touched you."

Harry shook his head. "No, but any of the others could have. Any of them besides Riddle could've killed me with one spell. But she lied, made them believe I was already dead, so no one else would check. I…I don't think she really wanted to do what Riddle told them too, at least not for some time."

"Harry, she's married to Lucious Malfoy. She has a torture chamber in her basement. She kept Luna and Ollivander and who knows how many other people locked in there for weeks. Harry, she just sat there as her sister _tortured_ Hermione." Ron was adamant, and he looked around for support. Kingsley's face remained passive, but Ginny seemed to be nodding slightly at Ron's words. Hermione however was looking down at the chess board, her expression unreadable.

"I know. I _know_ all that Ron. But what else was she supposed to do? Hell, we don't even have proof that she _did _anything. For all we know, she could've been a prisoner in her own home. It certainly seemed like her and Lucius didn't have much say when we were there."

Ron couldn't believe it. It had been one thing to save the ferret's life in the Room of Requirement, but another to…

"What are you saying, Harry? That they should go free? That after everything they've done, they should get to walk around with wands they could use to curse someone whenever they feel like it?"

"I don't know. I'm just trying to tell Kingsley the facts." He looked back at the older man. "At the Manor, when we were captured, Hermione tried to disguise me. Bellatrix asked Malfoy to identify me and he didn't. He lied." Harry looked around somewhat guiltily at his friends. "And remember, he didn't kill Dumbledore last year. He lowered his wand."

"What about Dobby, Harry?" Ron asked, trying to get some bit of anger out of his friend to direct at the Malfoys. "Remember how terrible they were to him his whole life; remember how he had to die to save us from them?"

"Stop! Just stop it, both of you!" The room was stunned to silence by Hermione's outburst. "Ron you've said your piece and Harry's said his." She looked up and Ron could see her eyes were swimming with tears and he put an arm around her, thankful when she didn't shy away from him. "Now is there anything else?" she asked Kingsley, who smiled back at her.

"Yes actually. I've contacted the Australian Ministry and made arrangements for a portkey to take you and Ron to Canberra, the capital."

"You have?" asked Hermione, clearly not having expected this to be Kingsley's _something else_.

He nodded. "For next Thursday, the fourteenth. When you arrive, you'll meet with officials from their Ministry, probably aurors, who will help you get settled in and help you with the search for your parents. And don't worry, all your expenses will be taken care of. It's the least we can do for you."

Hermione blushed and said thank you, and Ron squeezed her shoulder supportively.

"There is one more piece of business as well." All four of them looked to Kingsley expectantly. "I'm not sure if you three have thought about your futures at all, but, well, it's looking like I'll be appointed the next minister on a more permanent basis any day now. And there's a lot of work to be done, getting things back on track. Especially with rounding up all the death eaters that escaped during the final battle and Volde…Riddle's other supporters that were busy elsewhere."

Ron wasn't exactly sure where Kingsley was going with this, and guessing by his face neither did Harry. But like always, Hermione was three steps ahead of everyone else. "Are you offering us jobs?"

Kingsley nodded. "I'll need all the help I can get, especially dependable people with some experience."

"What kind of jobs," asked Ron bluntly.

"Well, I was hoping maybe you'd all like to be Aurors?"

"Even me?" Ron asked.

Kingsley chucked. "Of course. Based on the past year you three have had—and on the six before it if I'm to go by the stories Minerva's told me—all of you are more than qualified and capable. In fact, I was thinking I'd offer the same to the Longbottom boy…" Kingsley rambled on but Ron was no longer listening. An Auror. _Him_. He couldn't believe it.

As a child, Ron had dreamed of playing for the Chudley Cannons. But while a part of Ron still dreamt at night of himself decked out in the orange robes as he floated between the hoops in front of a roaring crowd, he'd known that it was only a fantasy since his keeper trials at the beginning of fifth year.

Sure he loved Quidditch. And occasionally, Ron even thought he was actually _good_ at Quidditch. But the truth was, he couldn't realistically see himself playing professionally. The pressure, the nerves…it was all too much just being on the House team, let alone playing professionally. In fact, another year on the team and he might lose his ability to enjoy playing Quidditch forever. Two-on-Two in the fields surrounding the Burrow was much more appealing, even if he got Hermione for a partner and she made them lose.

But being an Auror was something he could actually see. It had been his third greatest desire since fourth year, after getting Hermione to fancy him and Harry living through the mess with Voldemort. He would make a good Auror. He knew that. Harry had said it himself to the D.A.; it wasn't about knowing all the spells and such, but about nerves and instinct and bravery. And Ron was finally starting to believe that he really did possess these qualities.

"…So I'll be back in a few days and you three can let me know your decisions," concluded Kingsley as he stood. He exchanged a few goodbyes with the four of them, and then let himself be walked out accompanied by Mr. Weasley. Immediately Ron and Harry began talking excitedly about working as Aurors, imagining themselves as partners hunting down dark wizards together and bringing them to justice while Hermione reveled in the return of her wand.

Soon, the four of them split off for bed but Ron had only removed his shirt and slid one leg from his trousers when the door to his room opened and Hermione slipped in.

"Hermione, wha—"

She ran across the room and kissed him, causing them both to lose balance and fall onto his bed. Hermione laughed softly and smiled. "I just wanted to say sorry for earlier."

"You don't have to apologize."

"No, but I wanted to. It was a good excuse to tell Ginny why I needed to come see you," she said coyly, reminding Ron of just how brilliant Hermione really was.

"Reckon it was nice of Kingsley to give us our wands back. I'd kinda settled on never seeing it again."

Hermione nodded. "And to offer us jobs as Aurors without having to take our N.E.W.T.s or go through the full training…"

"Yeah," he said.

"Is that what you really want to do?"

"Hermione, you've known I wanted to be an Auror since I was fourteen."

She turned the words over and over in her mind, not saying anything, and began kissing him again. But as wonderful as they were, the light nibbles on his lips were only a distraction for he soon felt Hermione tugging down his shorts. Instinctively he lifted his hips in compliance and felt her tentatively grasp his length.

He shivered from his cool touch and felt his cock snapping to attention. He almost felt like he should be embarrassed that he was such a randy bugger, but Hermione didn't seem to mind, so who was he to complain?

Her strokes were amateur, quick and short, pumping him in an almost mechanical fashion until she heard his breathing became labored and shallow, and she managed to relax, assured that she wasn't doing anything wrong. Her touch grew more confident, teasing him with long, languid strokes, her grip tightening to increase the friction. For his part, Ron simply did his best not to move, to keep his hips from thrusting upward. He didn't want to scare Hermione away, not when he wished she would never stop exactly what she was doing. And soon Ron felt his stomach begin to twist itself into knots.

But surprisingly, it wasn't the pressure of his oncoming release that he was feeling. He was thinking back to Hermione's tone when she asked if being an Auror was really what he wanted, remembering glancing into her worried eyes as he talked excitedly with Harry. And most of all, strangely enough, he was recalling the image of Andromeda holding little Teddy in her arms at Lupin and Tonk's funeral, giving the baby boy one last look at his parents. And Harry's words from 12 Grimmauld Place all those months ago: _Parents shouldn't leave their kids. Unless…unless they've got to. _

So what if he didn't have a kid. It worked both ways, didn't it? He had a family he loved. And he had Hermione. Could he really leave them to go and fight dark wizards, to go and have more adventures with Harry?

And then Ron realized that he didn't need to become an Auror to abandon his family. He'd been doing it for days now, too preoccupied with Hermione to pay attention to them and their grief. Hell, he hadn't thought about Fred since the afternoon of the funeral. He hadn't tried speaking to George or his Mum in days. What kind of brother was he, what kind of son, what kind of man?

"Ron?" Hermione questioned from somewhere near his waist. It was then that he realized that while Hermione still had one small hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his little soldier wasn't exactly standing at full attention. In fact, it looked like it was trying to climb back into his body to hide, and he couldn't blame her for giving up on the task at hand.

"Sod Kingsley," Ron whispered to himself, covering his face with his large hand, wondering what excuse he was going to give Hermione.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The chapter's title comes from the song "Don't Let Our Youth Go to Waste" by Galaxie 500 off their album _Today_. It's actually a cover of a Modern Lovers song, but they get their own chapter later and the Galaxie 500 version is much better anyway.


	8. CH7: Candle

**A/N: **Hey my story's a month old! Big thank you's to all my reviewers: **vlaovic, Sarden, ChelseaLovesFood,RyanRow02, oscarpaz00, milan4ever, avini, Ferrari08, LKP, Michelle, youcandoit, leightonmarie1992, Bellatrix is Strange, JustAnotherGuy100, Romione4ever, Fade to Black, Grown Up Ron, harrylovesginny, and Athenais777**. And to all the people who've added Closer to their favorites/alert list and to all you anonymous readers out there (don't be shy, leave a review! I update faster when I get lots of them). Hits/Visitors for the last chapter were off the charts (at least compared to the first 5) and I owe it all to you guys. Or maybe I just owe it to the smut? Nah, let's go with you guys.

Oh and in case, I haven't made it clear, I'll always try and address concerns or questions expressed in reviews through pm or (if I think it's probably something lots of people are wondering or it's an anon review) in the author's note at the end of each chapter. If I don't say anything, trust that I'm not ignoring you; I just know your questions will be answered as the story unfolds and don't want to spoil anything.

And as always, a big thanks to my beta **superfan24** who's helped me clean up everything starting in chapter 4. Any improvement in recent chapters is thanks to her.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Candle<strong>

_6 September, 1998_

If Hermione had thought Hogwarts felt odd after Dumbledore died, it was nothing compared to how the school felt now. Yes, the damages done to the structure had been repaired for the most part, but walking through the halls, sitting in lessons, sleeping in the dorm just wasn't how she'd imagined when she decided to return for her seventh year.

Of course the most obvious difference was the lack of Ron and Harry. She'd spent practically every minute of school with them the past six years and now they were nowhere to be found. There was no lecturing Harry to get his homework done because he had Quidditch practice later, there was no Ron to tell off for stuffing his face unceremoniously at meals, no-one to pull her out of the library on a nice day or tease her about S.P.E.W. Yes there was Ginny, and Dean and Luna and plenty of other students who were more than friendly toward her now that she was both Head Girl and a certified war hero, but it wasn't the same. Those two boys had been her first real friends in the entire world, and she missed them. It just wasn't Hogwarts without them.

But it was more than that. There was no Snape, no Malfoy, no Pansy to loathe. In fact, it seemed like Slytherin House as a whole had had _Quietus _cast on them. They seemed incapable of mustering up the same animosity toward the other houses as they had in the past and she wondered if they were observing some kind of penance for the past mistakes of their forerunners. While undoubtedly a good sign, she couldn't help but feel strange about the whole thing.

And she didn't know most of the students either. Oh sure, she knew most of their names, and some she knew from prefect duty, but gone were people like Ernie and Hannah and Terry: with only a few exceptions, the people around her simply didn't know her, though an awful lot of them acted like they did.

She's known there were no substitutes for Harry and Ron—a lesson she'd leaned during her time in Australia—but that didn't explain why she seemed incapable of having a good time with her fellow students. She wanted to blame it on the fact that those she considered herself closest to—Ginny, Dean, and Luna—were too busy with other things, but that wasn't the case. Yes, Ginny was Quidditch captain and Dean had been training with her in the hopes of making the team, but practices hadn't even started yet, and Harry and Ron had certainly always found time for her. And Luna was in another house, but that still didn't excuse why the two girls didn't spend time together on the weekends.

Whatever the reason, Hermione did the best she could to keep herself occupied. She busied herself with studies (she was thankful that she'd been otherwise occupied during the hols because it now gave her plenty of material to catch up on) and her duties as Head Girl.

She also spent a lot of time writing letters—to her parents and to Ron. Well, she'd written lots of letters to her parents, trying to remain in touch with them as much as possible, while her letters to Ron remained mostly in her head.

Since Ginny offered her Pig's services, she'd set aside a chunk of time each day to write to Ron. It was the only time she permitted thoughts of the red-head to dominate her mind, though it seemed like there was a memory of their times together waiting around every corner to haunt her. But when she went to bed at the end of every night, she would incinerate the scrap of parchment on which she'd only managed to jot down a few lines.

_Why was it so hard?_ She'd never had trouble writing Ron letters over the summer before. But those letters had always been filled with details of what she'd been doing since term ended. Wut what could she tell him about her life now? She doubted he'd be interested in hearing which students she'd docked points from that week or read about what she'd learned in Ancient Runes the day before. _Perhaps he wouldn't mind hearing about what she'd eaten in the Great Hall that morning_, she thought wryly. Of course she could ask him questions about his life; how the joke shop was doing, how his family was, how Harry was liking Auror training. But in truth, she could get all that information from Ginny much more easily and in greater detail.

It just didn't make sense. How could you find an endless number of things to talk about with someone whom you saw every day, but not be able to fill one letter when they'd spent months apart?

Part of her was tempted to just put everything down into writing, everything she'd done and thought since leaving for Australia, send it to Ron and hope for the best. But she owed him better than that. She'd made enough mistakes already; she wasn't going make another when she told him. Of course, she realized this was only one more excuse not to put everything on the line.

Hermione sighed as she found a seat in the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Uncharacteristically, a large part of her actually wanted to drop the class. The war was over, Riddle was gone, and while she wasn't naïve to think that they were completely safe, Hermione felt she knew enough spells to defender herself. And she had more than enough practical application for a dozen lifetimes—which was perhaps why she felt somewhat at-odds with the new professor.

She'd seen him at the start of term feast. After taking a seat next to Dean, her eyes had immediately scanned the staff table. Though she smiled when her eyes found Professor McGonagall in the central chair, Dumbledore's absence had been yet another sad reminder of all that had changed. Her eyes had quickly found a tall, strikingly handsome gentlemen looking to be in his early thirties with dark hair that fell to his shoulders in curls. He instantly struck her as familiar, and not just because of his resemblance to Sirius. She had definitely seen him before somewhere, but it was only after Professor McGonagall introduced him as Professor Charles Reverent that she learned how she knew him.

Immediately after McGonagall spoke his name, a rush of murmured whispers had broken out along the four house tables that had been absent when she introduced the new Muggle Studies and Transfiguration professors.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe he's teaching here," she heard a fifth year boy repeating over and over.

"Who is he?" asked Dean, who seemed equally lost.

"He's an Auror," said the boy excitedly. "But more than that, he's the International Dueling Champion five years running!"

Hermione's eyes had shifted back to the new professor. It struck her as odd that an auror would bother with something as unnecessary and showy as dueling competitions. In fact, the first association in her mind had been Gilderoy Lockhart, who preferred _being_ famous to actually _accomplishing_ anything to earn him the fame he desired. But as her gaze lingered on him, she remembered where she had seen him before.

He had been one of the many Aurors assigned to guard and patrol Hogwarts during her sixth year. She'd never spoken to him, but she'd seen him in the corridors or stationed at the castle's entrance, and immediately felt a little better. She knew he'd been appointed to that position by Rufus Scrimgeour, but she also knew Dumbledore wouldn't have permitted an untrustworthy Auror around his students day in and day out. And if he had indeed won the International Dueling Championship five times, he must have had some abilities, especially considering his age.

Still, something about him did not sit right with her. After all, when Kingsley had offered her, Ron and Harry positions as Aurors, he'd made it sound as though they were in desperate need of help to track down the remaining Death Eaters and help restrain those they'd already captured now that the Dementors had been removed from Azkaban.

Soon, the class was full of chatting students, but after Professor Reverent called the class to order a number of students' hands shot up, causing Hermione to sigh exasperatedly. It had been the same story in their first two lessons, and another reason she wished the ambitious side of her would let her drop the subject.

This first question would lead to another, then another and soon half the lesson would be wasted discussing Professor Reverent's greatest duels. She considered opening her text to the chapter they were supposed to be covering (Fiendfyre) and reviewing the material on her own when she thought of a question on her own and her hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger? Something you wish to ask?" Professor Reverent asked with a rather charming smile.

Hermione felt heat rush to her cheeks and coughed. "Um, yes actually."

Reverent waited. "Well, perhaps if you say it, I can give you an answer."

Several girls giggled and Hermione scoffed, her embarrassment forgotten. "I'm sorry if this is inappropriate Sir, but…I was wondering if you could tell us of your involvement in the war."

He laughed, a light, youthful chuckle that helped her feel at ease after her rather personal question. "You're wondering if I was one of the cowards who hid during the worst of the fighting, are you? Or perhaps you think I continued serving the Ministry after Voldemort took over, even helped hunt down Undesirables while under the influence of the Imperius Curse?"

The classroom was silent. Hermione didn't dare confirm or deny his suspicions, though her cheeks betrayed the fact that he had read her intentions perfectly.

"It's all right. It's natural for you to judge the rest of us, considering what you and your friends went through on your own."

"You can't trust everything you read in the papers," Hermione muttered quietly, while internally wondering if she was indeed judging him and others.

"I never said I did," Professor Reverent informed her. The smile on his face disappeared and his amiable tone grew more serious. "I actually did remain at the Ministry after it fell and continued to work there, though I was not under the effects of the Imperius Curse."

The class's heads seemed to snap to look at his as one. "You did?" asked a Hufflepuff boy.

Reverent nodded. "I felt it was the place I could do the most good during the war. Not all of us were lucky enough to be counted among Albus Dumbledore's trusted Order."

Ginny spoke up next. "How did you know about the Order if you weren't a member?"

Their professor chuckled a little. "It was never _that _secret of an organization, especially when one is friends with Aurors like Kingsley and Alastor."

"You know…knew Professor Moody? And Minister Shacklebolt?" asked a Ravenclaw girl, sounding awestruck.

"Actually I was the last junior Auror Alastor taught before his retirement." Dean whistled. Hermione was about to correct him and say that Tonk had been his last student when he caught her eye and spoke up again. "Sorry, his last _official_ student," he amended before continuing.

"My position at the Ministry granted me the ability to play the middle-man. I had some friends in places where they got whiffs of serious Death Eater activity and I could pass it along to them without arousing too much suspicion. I'd never had any blatant connections with Dumbledore and I'm too young to have fought in the last war against Voldemort. Still, it was always possible that I'd be found out. No matter how careful I was, I was an automatic suspect because of my blood status."

"You're a Muggle-born?" asked Justin Finch-Fletchley who, like Hermione and Dean, had returned to make up his missed seventh year. Professor Reverent nodded. "Then how could you keep working at the Ministry?"

"I had a few friends in-position to alter my records so that it said I was a half-blood," he explained. "But of course some of his supporters knew me from before, some even from back in school and they had heard me claim to be Muggle-born in the past. So I was continually placed under observation, watched so they could prove whether or not I was aiding Undesirables." He sighed. "It was only a matter of time before I was caught actually. They were monitoring me so closely that I spent months working like their faithful lapdog until I started to crack. After your break-in," he motioned to Hermione, whose cheeks colored again after being singled out, "I began doing everything I could to cause trouble and pass along information to those I knew could be trusted. I didn't care if I got caught anymore. I played myself off as being thick when they started to get suspicious which bought me a little time. Thankfully by the time my actions became inexcusable, the Battle of Hogwarts broke out."

"And did you come here to fight?" asked Hermione. "I don't remember seeing you during the battle, or after during the celebrations."

"No I didn't come here. Honestly, most people had no idea what was going on, except Voldemort was mounting his forces to assault a resistance movement at Hogwarts led by Harry Potter. I thought about coming, but realized the possibility that our side would lose that fight. So I stayed, instead helping to overthrow those Death Eaters that remained at the Ministry, and freeing the Muggle-borns and squibs and other prisoners his regime had arrested. By the time Kingsley and the other Aurors arrived after Voldemort's defeat, we had almost everything under control."

Hermione didn't know what to think. She knew Mr. Weasley had remained at the Ministry up until Ron was captured by the Snatchers and he took his family into hiding, but there was still something she didn't like about his story. Perhaps it was his lack of faith in Harry's ability to win that threw her off. And if he was so capable, being a dueling champ and having been trained by Moody himself, why would he not go where the fighting was worst, where the odds were stacked against their side?

"I know my subject probably seems a bit old hat to those of you who fought in the war," his eyes lingered over Hermione for a moment, "but I hope you can find something worth learning in my class so your year isn't a total waste."

A choir of voices sung out in defense of both the subject and of Professor Reverent himself. For her part, Hermione remained silent, a part of her feeling that the class was indeed turning out to be a waste. _Or perhaps it's just that nothing about this year is turning out as I'd imagined_, she found herself thinking.

"I'm actually surprised the Headmistress bothered to ask me to sign-on for just the one year," Professor Reverent continued once he'd quieted the class down. "You lot could probably teach this class yourselves if they gave you the chance." His eyes swept over Hermione once more and she took his words as a personal compliment.

"So you're just staying the one year?" asked the same Ravenclaw girl from earlier, sounding incredibly disappointed. Hermione was confused as well. With Riddle gone, the curse of the Defense post was finally broken, so why hadn't Professor McGonagall found a teacher that actually wanted to stick around long-term?

"Unfortunately, yes. To be honest with you, teaching isn't exactly my cup of tea. While I love your sharp and eager minds, I don't think I'm the best person to try and mold them." Once again there was a clamor of voices to the contrary but he quieted them quickly. "It's true. I'm really only here as a favor to Professor Blake who recommended me for the post. I'm just giving Headmistress McGonagall an extra year to find a suitable long-term candidate.

"Now, any other questions before we begin?" he asked, flashing his grin once more in Hermione's direction, catching her off-guard. She didn't know what about him she found so disarming, or why she was as curious about him as her fellow students. "Yes, Miss Thompson?" he asked, pointing over Hermione's head.

"I was just wonder which house you were in when you attended Hogwarts," the girl managed to squeeze out between giggles.

"Surely after everything we've gone through these past few years we know better than to think that house divisions matter. But, for the record, I was in Gryffindor."

000

Hermione entered the Great Hall for supper thoroughly disappointed in the day's lessons, Luna traipsing a short distance behind as she whistled an unfamiliar tune absentmindedly. The rest of Defense class had continued to be a Q and A session where her classmates fawned over their new teacher, until the last five minutes when they'd finally gotten around to discussing Fiendfyre. Potions had been a complete disaster as Professor Slughorn fawned over her continually to the point that she was distracted from her attempt to brew the blood-replenishing potion resulting in her adding only fourteen caterpillars instead of fifteen. And Ancient Runes had been a complete bore, though she supposed it wasn't the instructor's fault that translating ancient texts was quite simple when you weren't preoccupied with searching for Horcruxes, running from death eaters and _not_ snogging the boy you desperately fancied in front of your mutual best friend.

She plopped into her usual seat next to Dean while Luna took the seat across from them next to Ginny. Luna seemed to eat at the Gryffindor table more often than her own. Actually it was quite common now to see the students of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw mixed together in the halls and during mealtimes. Even the common rooms seemed empty of older students in the past, presumably because they preferred to spend time where they could mingle with their friends in other houses.

"How was your free period?" Hermione asked Ginny and Dean, continuing to speak without waiting for their answer. "Did you get a start on the Transfiguration essay? I wrote mine last night and found Professor Blake's thoughts on human-to-human yesterday transfiguration quite inspiring. It gave me a whole new view on the subject."

No-one was surprised to find Hermione had already finished the essay, or that she was asking a question to which she already knew the answer. "Hermione, you know we haven't bothered starting that yet. We've got all weekend," said Ginny, desperately trying not to roll her eyes.

"Yes, but you both have Quidditch trials tomorrow, so I thought you'd get a start on it today." She paused. "But I suppose you both can work on it after supper," reasoned Hermione.

"We'll be sure to get right on that," said Ginny, her tone dripping with Ron's usual sarcasm.

"Need I remind you all that N.E.W.T.s are in nine months?"

"We've only been here a week and you've reminded us thirty bloody times already, so no you don't need to remind us," Ginny muttered quietly, but Hermione wasn't listening.

"These tests decide our entire futures, what kind of jobs we can get, and I would hope you'd take them seriously."

Dean looked nervous. Though he'd spent six years as Hermione's classmate, he'd never had to deal with her nagging before. He shot Luna a glance, but the girl was oblivious, having passed over the roast and potatoes in favor of going straight to pudding. He turned his eyes back to his food, before speaking to his plate.

"Luna and I were going to the library after supper. Weren't we Luna?"

"Were we?" asked Luna, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Err, yes?"

Luna tilted her head in consideration. "Why would you want to do that?"

Hermione couldn't tell if Dean was making up their plans to review on the spot or if Luna was simply being her usual odd self, but decided to go with the latter because it supported her own opinion.

"You see?" said Hermione, focusing back on Ginny. "Some people realize how important it is to begin reviewing now."

"It's not important to review if you're planning to play Quidditch for the rest of your life."

"Yes, well…" Hermione was taken aback. She knew Ginny was hoping to play professionally, and understood that Transfiguration wouldn't be much help to that end. However… "Still, there's always the chance that it won't work out." The dark expression on Ginny's face told her that had clearly been the wrong thing to say. "No. I only meant…it's just you can play Quidditch forever. No one can. Just look at Mr. Bagman," Hermione reasoned.

Ginny's fork clattered to the plate as she dropped it, getting up from the table. "You know Hermione, just because Ron and Harry aren't here doesn't mean you have to fuss over me instead."

"I didn't. I wasn't," Hermione huffed indignantly.

Dean chose that moment to make his escape as well. "We'd better go too. Luna?" The blonde looked up from her spotted dick. "You finished?"

Luna pondered the question for a moment. "For now, I suppose." The pair stood and walked off, following in Ginny's wake, leaving Hermione still sitting there, wondering how, after seven years, she was once again eating her supper alone.

000

_7 September, 1998_

Ginny was in bed by the time Hermione returned to the dormitory that evening and though she would've liked to believe her friend's early bedtime had more to do with the morning's trials than their fight, Hermione wasn't delusional. In an attempt to mend fences, Hermione made sure to attend Quidditch trials the next morning. Though seeing as Luna was to be her only company, she brought along her bag and pulled out her Arithmancy text to read while she watched her house mates swoop and dive through the air.

Ginny put the hopeful candidates through the ringer, starting with chasers before moving on to Beaters then Keeper and then finally the Seekers. Though she was only half paying attention, it was still quite obvious that none of the candidates for keeper or seeker were as skilled as Ron or Harry had been—a small source of pride for Hermione. It did however make Ginny's job as captain considerably more difficult.

Dean, Demelza Robbins, Jimmy Peakes and Richie Coote all held on to their old positions from two years ago while a tall sixth year girl named Danielle Adams was appointed Keeper and a scrawny fifth year boy named Neil Dobbins was made Seeker. Hermione had wanted to go and congratulate the new members and Ginny the moment the trials were over, but Ginny called the new team together for a meeting in the locker room. After waiting twenty minutes, Hermione gave up and headed back to the castle, figuring that she could talk to Ginny later in the common room during the inevitable celebration for the new teammates.

Hermione headed to the library, intent on getting as much work done as possible before the party began, hoping that would allow her to relax. Unfortunately time slipped away from her while she worked on essays for Professors Slughorn and Flitwick and soon she realized she'd not only missed lunch, but supper as well. She packed up and headed for Gryffindor tower, hoping that the party would still be going and that there would still be some food left.

She spotted Ginny immediately, doing a very good sulking-Harry impression as she stood alone in a corner nursing a butterbeer. Hermione resolved to find out what was troubling her friend and try her best to help. Unfortunately, judging by the way Ginny's countenance darkened as she approached, the conversation wasn't going to go as she hoped; before she even had a chance to say hello, Ginny started right into it.

"Decided to join the party, have you? Or just here to tell us we're being too loud?"

While Hermione had realized that her good intentions the night before had resulted in an uncharacteristic lack of delicacy on her part, she refused to allow Ginny to speak to her in such a manner, especially when she had come to offer her help. "Of course not. And I like to have fun just as much as the rest of you."

Ginny snorted. "Hermione you wouldn't know fun if Grawp spewed it all over you without Ron around."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the mention of Ron's name. Neither girl had spoken about him since the beginning of the train ride, though there had been several times when they'd had to tiptoe around the subject. But apparently Ginny was done with that.

"I am more than capable of having a good time without having Harry—or your brother," Hermione added more quietly, "around."

Ginny smiled, but Hermione recognized it as the kind of smile you never wanted to be the cause of. "Oh really? So what have you been doing all day?"

"Well I went to watch your trials this morning."

"The trials ended hours ago. I meant what've you been up to since?"

"Um…well…I was just..."

Ginny's eyes widened in mock surprise and she let out a somewhat derisive laugh. "Don't tell me you've been in the library this whole time?" she said sarcastically.

"I lost track of time. I was working on that essay for Professor Flitwick on the applications for protean charms."

"Hermione, haven't you known how to do a protean charm since your fifth year?"

"Yes, well, that's beside the point."

"And I'm sure your essay stuck to the three-feet Flitwick assigned us."

Hermione's essay on Protean Charms was actually nearly five feet in length, but she felt it wasn't the best idea to inform Ginny of this fact. "There's nothing wrong with being thorough," she said, and after a moments consideration added, "Or with doing more than the bare minimum."

"There's nothing wrong with treating your friends as though you actually care either."

"I care," Hermione said resentfully.

"Then, _as a friend_, would you mind laying off the whole prefect routine? I've got enough to worry about without you getting on my arse about N.E.W.T.s. We didn't get one solid candidate for Seeker at the trials today. Not one!"

Though Hermione felt like scoffing at the idea of Quidditch being something 'to worry about' she knew better than to say so out loud. "But I thought Neil Dobbins—"

Ginny cut her off with a laugh—a genuine one this time. "Hermione did you even watch the tryouts? Neil went out for chaser, not seeker."

Hermione was confused. "But you already had Dean and Demelza and…and you…" Hermione trailed off, beginning to understand.

Ginny nodded. "Which means I'm stuck playing Seeker."

"But you've played Seeker before. You're fantastic. Maybe not as good as you are at Chaser but still."

"Hermione, this isn't about the team. We'll be good and we'll have a shot at the cup. Even if we only had six players and had to ride Shooting Stars, we'd still have a shot after I whipped us into shape. But this was _my_ chance." Hermione was started to see the younger girl looked to have tears in her eyes. "And now the scouts are going to see me playing seeker and there's no way I'll be invited to any training camps."

She gave an audible sniff and Hermione's frustration over Ginny's sour mood and continued rebuffs instantly melted. "Oh, Ginny. I'm so sorry. I wasn't even thinking about what this meant for you personally."

"Of course not. Everyone thinks that just because I'm the girl in the family I don't feel the need to find my own place. That I don't feel the same pressures Ron does."

"Do you really need to keep bringing up Ron's name?" Hermione asked. She was trying to focus on helping Ginny, but every mention of his name sent a shock through her body.

"Right. Easier just to ignore him for months, pretend he doesn't exist?"

"Ginny, what's going on? A month ago you were fine when I was staying at your house. And you saw me. I didn't avoid Ron. If anything, he was avoiding me."

"Hermione, you spent a _week_ at the Burrow. I was the one who was there _all summer_. I was the one who had to watch him light up when the post arrived every morning and see him crushed when there was never any letter from you. And I was there to see him just sort of give up one day and start pouring everything he had into the shop. And for what? He doesn't even like it there. I see how miserable he is. And now I'll probably end up there too."

Hermione was a whirl of feelings. She was still trying to process everything going on with Ginny, but she couldn't help think of Ron. Was he really as miserable as Ginny made him sound? Had he really waited anxiously for a letter from her for months? And what had made him suddenly give up? "You don't know the whole story Ginny," she said quietly.

"No I don't. But whose fault is that?"

Hermione wanted to explain to Ginny. She really did. But she was Ron's sister, and Hermione couldn't ask her to keep her secrets until she worked up the courage to tell him. For that matter, she wasn't sure Ginny would even accept her explanations.

Ginny seemed to take Hermione's silence as an admission of guilt. "You know, Ron wasn't the only one you abandoned for months. He wasn't the only one wondering when you were coming home."

"Ginny—" started Hermione, sounding almost heartbroken.

"Don't you have rounds to be getting to?" Ginny interrupted, sounding rather nasty. And without waiting for an answer, she stormed off to join Demelza and Peakes in a vigorous discussion of the Tornados chances for the cup.

Hermione sat there, looking forlorn before realizing that it was nine o'clock and she indeed had rounds to be getting to. With one last glance at Ginny's back, Hermione headed out of the portrait hole, in no mood to deal with Andrew Davies.

000

"Professor Reverent's bloody amazing, isn't he?" Andrew said forty minutes later as they finished patrolling the fourth floor. Hermione made a non-committal sound and he continued. "I mean just hearing him talk about everything he's done…" As she listened to him drone on and on about the merits of Charles Reverent, Andrew did a series of spins and twirls, coming out of each one with his wand at the ready, as if prepared to hex an imaginary Death Eater.

If Hermione had been in a better mood, she might've found it humorous that Andrew was speaking of Professor Reverent in the same manner Ron had once spoken of Viktor Krum before, well, before he became _Vicky_. But, seeing as she wasn't in a better mood, she found his entire display quite juvenile and had to continually force herself to keep from telling him so.

"Some people call him 'The Dragon.' Even say he's got real dragon's blood in his veins. Of course I reckon I could take him if I needed to," Andrew said, puffing out his chest. Hermione rolled her eyes unseen and contemplated offering to finish rounds by herself for the umpteenth time that evening, even though she knew it was against the rules.

_The size of Andrew's head! Honestly! How he ever made Head Boy is a complete mystery_, she thought. When she'd met him in the prefects' car on the Hogwarts Express, it had taken less than a minute to realize he was the Ravenclaw version of Cormac McLaggen. Actually he was worse, because unlike Cormac he actually _was_ intelligent and he _was_ good looking and he _was _an excellent Quidditch player. But he was also very _very_ aware of all these things, and made sure everyone else knew as well. During their first meeting, she'd had to inform the other prefects of their duties singlehandedly because Andrew had been too busy flirting with a Hufflepuff sixth year. As punishment, she'd scheduled their rounds for Saturday night, knowing he would mourn the loss of one of his precious weekend evenings. Of course it didn't bother Hermione to give up her Saturday nights for the term; what else was she to do with them with no boyfriend or, apparently, friends of any sort to spend them with.

Earlier, in an attempt at manners, Hermione had tried talking about lessons. Andrew got good marks and she'd figured they could have something of a normal conversation if she found out which subjects he found interesting. But as it turned out, he didn't seem to care much for coursework and apparently got his marks by a combination of luck and natural brilliance (having inherited the lion's share, Hermione guessed, as Roger had been a total duffer). Eventually they'd come around to Defense Against the Dark Arts, the one subject it seemed that every male at Hogwarts was interested in, which explained how she'd found herself discussing Professor Reverent's dueling skills for the last quarter-hour.

Deciding that if she had to hear Andrew brag about his merits, she'd rather him do so on a topic for which he deserved at least _some_ of the accolades he lauded on himself, she switched the conversation to Quidditch.

"Gryffindor had our trials this morning. My friend Ginny's the captain and she's a bit disappointed at the results. How did yours go?"

He waved her question off as if it was a trifling matter without looking at her. He jumped, pointing his wand at a suit of armor that had rattled, startling Hermione until she realized it was nothing. "Ours isn't 'till next week. I was a little late on booking the pitch and this weekend filled up," he said without the faintest hint of embarrassment.

Hermione scowled. _Why couldn't Ron have come back for school? Then he could be Head Boy and I wouldn't be stuck with this lummox. He might've even been Quidditch captain too_. Hermione shook her head to clear the thoughts from her mind. It wouldn't do to quell on what-ifs. In doing so, she might come to the conclusion that she was the reason why things hadn't turned out that way.

"Are you expecting to field a strong team this year?" asked Hermione, trying to sound interested and knowledgeable.

"Oh yeah. We've got five returners. And I know for a fact Guy Ferry has been training all summer and should have a killer arm at chaser. Would've been on the team ages ago if Quidditch hadn't been banned last year and he hadn't missed tryouts the year before because of a broken collarbone…But why're you so interested?" he asked, his eyes turning to look upon her shrewdly.

"What?" Hermione asked, taken off-guard by his sudden suspicion. "I was just being friendly. We're going to be patrolling together all year after all," she said, trying her best to sound like she was looking forward to it.

"Err right," said Andrew, and they continued walking for a minute before he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side of the hallway to half-hide behind a column. "Listen, uh, Hermione," he said, glancing down. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. With the walks in the moonlight romantic rubbish and me talking to you, but…I'm not interested," he said firmly, looking into her eyes to reinforce his sincerity.

"Not interested?" Hermione asked, completely lost.

"Not in that way, no. But I am flattered. I just prefer birds whose hair isn't so…big," he said, trying to sound tactful. Suddenly it clicked. _He thinks I fancy him, that I'm some tart chatting him up about Quidditch just so he'll notice me! _she realized. It also didn't escape her that he hadn't been examining her to suss out her motives, but had in fact been checking her out to determine whether he liked what he saw.

_Perhaps the problem has less to do with the size of my hair than the size of my chest_, Hermione thought, completely incensed. She pulled away from Andrew who had still been holding her wrist, and began marching down the hallway once more.

After that, they conducted rounds in silence; Andrew apparently felt bad enough about 'slighting' Hermione that he kept his mouth shut out of respect for her perceived hurt feelings. For her part, Hermione passed the time by thinking up all the different hexes she would like to use on him. Thankfully, seeing as it was too early in the term for students to have grown restless, they found the halls and classrooms completely empty and they finished soon after.

After parting, she headed back to Gryffindor Tower. On the way, she passed the door leading to the Room of Requirement. Since returning to Hogwarts, she'd avoided lingering in that hall because of its connection with her and Ron's past. But, feeling not the slightest bit eager to return to a disgruntled Ginny and a common room where she would inevitably be forced to break up the party, she pulled on the polished door knob and entered. And though Professor McGonagall had explained why the room was now open to students anytime before curfew, seeing it was completely different from hearing about it.

After she had left for Australia, the idea of a memorial honoring those who fought and died in the fight against Riddle had been raised. And once the Ministry realized the motion had universal support, it was decided that Hogwarts—as the sight of the final battle—was the perfect place for it. There had been some dissenters who questioned whether a memorial was really necessary when the castle itself was in dire need of repair, but thankfully Hogwarts had worked its magic and provided exactly what was needed with literally no effort.

I nside she did not find the large mirrored room filled with dark detectors, cushions and spellbooks the D.A. had used, nor the hideout Neville, Ginny and the others had used the previous year. And the room bore no resemblance to the cavernous Room of Hidden Things, nor did it resemble a broom cupboard or contain any chamber pots or an elf-sized bed and cures for butterbeer.

Instead the room—which she guessed was nearly the length of the Great Hall—was filled with rows and rows of pews. And at the far end, above an enormous marble dais that greatly resembled a Muggle cathedral altar, floated over a hundred candles, each one looking to be around three feet in height. More of these candles floated around the room, illuminating the walls which seemed to be covered in yellowed parchment.

Using the light from a nearby floating candle she examined the wall next to the door and found that the parchment was covered in writing—in names to be precise. And Hermione experienced a brief shock and a moment of sadness when she recognized the both the handwriting as well as first few names listed there; in her own neat writing stood the words _Dumbledore's Army_. And directly beneath it, in a very showy scrawl that would've embarrassed Gilderoy Lockhart read the name _Fred Weasley_.

It was the list from the first D.A. meeting, the one she had jinxed and hung up in this very room before Umbridge had confiscated it. But when she came to Seamus Finnegan's name which had been the last added, she saw that the list continued. Some names—like Oliver Wood, Rubeus Hagrid, and Amelia Bones—she recognized, while others were completely unknown to her. She followed the list of signatures toward the front, finding the names of students, professors, Aurors, even Mr. Ollivander's, along with many more besides.

"It's a list of all those who fought against him, in both this war and the last," a voice echoed from behind her, and though it was soothing, Hermione jumped, having believed she was alone.

"I'm sorry my dear," said Professor Blake as he stood from the pew he'd been sitting in and moved to join her. "It wasn't my intent to startle you."

"No, Professor. I'm sorry. I was just…" she trailed off, wondering if she was in trouble. As Head Girl, she was allowed to be out at this time of night, but not without reason.

"Lost in memories," he finished for her. "Yes I understand. There's something both off-putting and rather soothing about this place, isn't there? How reading the names of those who fought, those who died can bring feelings of both comfort and guilt?" Hermione looked at the old man as he approached the wall and began reading the names written there, and was struck once more by how much he resembled Professor Dumbledore.

She'd first noticed it at the feast a week earlier. While her classmates had been fawning over Professor Reverent, once the mystery of how she recognized him had been solved, Hermione had been far more interested in the new Transfiguration professor.

He was not so old as Dumbledore had been—he looked to be much closer to Professor McGonagall in age—and he wore his fading golden hair far too short and had no beard. And she guessed he wouldn't even measure up to Harry in height. But still there was something about the new teacher that reminded her of the former headmaster.

At first she'd thought it was the eyes, which like Dumbledore's, were a stunning blue. But while there were the same hints of kindness and brilliance in them, not once had she seen in them Dumbledore's mischievous twinkle. Rather, Professor Blake's seemed to swirl and darken like a whirlpool. For a moment, she'd felt them pass over her face in the crowd and felt a warm tingling in her spine. And when she caught his eye before his gaze swept past her, she'd recognized there was a deep weariness about him in the way he smiled and waved as Professor McGonagall introduced him without appearing the least bit cheerful. It was the same way Remus had always appeared, except in those rare moments when he joked with Sirius or sat contentedly with Tonks. And she wondered what had made his life so hard.

In class, he'd exceeded all her expectations—a remarkable feat considering she was holding him to Minerva McGonagall standards—and was very interested in seeing what he thought of her essay. So far, she considered the scant few hours she spent focused on him and his subject the highlights of the term.

She soon realized that her deep thoughts had not interrupted Professor Blake's words and refocused on what he was saying as he explained the current state of the Room of Requirement to her.

"Each candle above the dais is marked with the name of someone who fell during the Battle of Hogwarts." He waved at the glowing display they were slowly making their way toward. "And those along the walls bear the names of those who fell elsewhere in the fight against darkness."

"And the names on the parchment?" she asked.

"Ah. I understand you and your friends were the inspiration for that little idea of Minerva's. I believe she found the scroll bearing the names of the members of Dumbledore's Army when she was moving into her new office over the summer and decided to put it up here. Someone at some point added their name as an honorary member and then another followed and soon enough the room took the idea and ran with it. And now what you see are the thousands of names of those fought against the Dark Lord."

"So everyone who signed their name here fought in the war?" she asked incredulously.

"I think that was the original spirit of the idea, but I think the intent's been broadened to include anyone who opposed what the Dark Lord. Of course, not everyone has been able to sign their own name, so some have been added by friends or family.

She hadn't heard anyone refer to Riddle as the Dark Lord since the first few days after his defeat and the idea that Professor Blake referred to him as such twice in a matter of moments bothered her. But before she could ask him about it, he turned spoke to her, stopping their walk at the foot of the dais. "You should be very proud of yourself, Miss Granger. Not everyone has the courage to try what you did. And even fewer have the ability to succeed."

Normally she would've felt quite flattered by his praise, but something in the old man's tone brought a question to her mind instead.

"Is your name on the wall here Professor?"

By way of answer he made one step onto the dais. She followed and soon found herself surrounded by the gigantic glowing candles. But though their flames burned brightly, she felt not the slightest bit of heat coming from them.

"Magic," he explained simply as if reading her mind. "While the names on the walls are indeed written in ink by hand, the candles you see but do not feel were created by this room. Headmistress McGonagall asked for a place honoring all those who had lost their lives and this is what the room provided."

Hermione marveled at the idea. How wondrous. She saw many names she recognized—Fred's and Tonk's and Snape's and Colin Creevy's—and wondered if she were to examine those floating elsewhere around the room would she stumble across candles belonging to Mad Eye Moody, to Cedric, to Gideon and Fabian Prewett, to Lily and James Potter.

Suddenly a hand proffering a handkerchief extended between two candles. She looked to see it belonged to Professor Blake. "For your tears, my dear."

Embarrassed, she wiped her eyes hastily, vaguely remembering a time when Ron had offered his own handkerchief in a similar manner. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick. He smiled at her, and then motioned for her to follow him off the dais.

A few minutes after they'd resumed their walk about the room, he spoke up once more. And this time, his voice did contain a weariness that would've made Lupin sound like a teenager. "No, my name is not on these walls. Nor does it deserve to be." Hermione held her tongue as he fell once more into silence, understanding this wasn't a subject which could be pushed. Thankfully her curiosity was rewarded. "I am a coward, you see. I was a student at Hogwarts at the same time as Tom Riddle the boy. I saw firsthand how brilliant he was all those years ago, understood what he would one day be capable of. And I was one of the few who knew that young man would become the Dark Lord and I heard the rumors of what he had already achieved in the time in between. I've spent most of my life traveling abroad, you see, as did he. And though we never _met_, our paths crossed a number of times."

"Now you must understand that for all the destruction you saw him cause during the war, in a way he was even more dangerous in those early years, when he mostly operated alone and in the shadows. He was a mystery, even to those of us who knew who he'd been and who he was becoming. No-one knew what he wanted, other than power. I saw those he…disposed of, after he no longer had need of their services. And as for the ones who actually denied him what he asked or merely ended up in his way, well, let's just say that his old methods for removing them used to be far more creative than just a simple killing curse. I daresay his cruelties back then would've made Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback look like upstanding citizens."

Hermione unconsciously traced two fingers across the nearly-invisible scar running across her neck at his words and shivered.

"Anyway," Professor Blake continued, "I'm not trying to make excuses. I should have returned. I was not a match for him, but who was, besides Albus? And your friend Mr. Potter of course," he said, turning to smile sadly at Hermione. After that, he made no motion to speak again, and they walked in silence for some time until they'd looped the room, ending near where he'd first approached her and Hermione decided to speak up.

"Professor, I was wondering if I might ask you something else."

"No need to be shy, my dear. Ask away. How else are we to learn life's mysteries?"

"It's just…I was speaking with professor Reverent yesterday and he told me he was only teaching here as a favor to you."

"Yes, that is how he sees things. But I don't believe that is the question you want to ask me."

Hermione flushed. "He also said he's only planning to stay until the end of the year."

"So it is his intention, as he has told me many times. But again, that's not the question you have for me."

"No, it isn't." Deciding no longer to beat around the bush she continued. "I was just wondering if you were also planning on leaving."

"Ah. Yes, that is an interesting question. But before I answer, might I inquire why you wish to know? After all, you will be leaving Hogwarts at the end of the year as well, so it will make no difference in regards to your own education."

Hermione thought for a moment. She wasn't sure why she wanted to know. For that matter, she wasn't sure why she felt so comfortable around this man. Or why she liked him so much despite not helping in the war against Riddle, but begrudged Professor Reverent for staying to fight at the Ministry rather than join the battle at Hogwarts.

"I merely ask for your sake, Miss Granger, not my own," Professor Blake said, interrupting her thoughts. "Often we find ourselves with questions to which we seek the answers. But unless you hope to learn everything there is to know, at some point we have to realize that we cannot ask them all. And that it is perhaps our choice of _which _questions to ask that matters more than the answers we hope to find."

Hermione pondered over his words. She wanted to tell him that she did want to learn everything, that it was her greatest desire—at least until recently. But of course learning everything to know was impossible, and even if Professor Blake appreciated her spirit, she felt that in expressing such a sentiment, she would be completely missing the point of what he'd said.

"But, to finally answer your question, no, I do not plan on leaving at the end of the year. In fact, it is my desire to remain at Hogwarts for a long time to come." He smiled, and despite her lingering confusion, Hermione felt comforted that even though future students would never have Albus Dumbledore as their headmaster, they would have Dorian Blake watching over them. "Now, off to bed my dear, pip pip," he said, ushering her toward the door.

"Are you staying Professor?" she asked.

He frowned and drew from his robes a rather ornate and complicated pocket watch and checked the time. "Unfortunately, yes. Though there are always students and visitors here during the day, only we teachers are here to keep vigil at night. And it seems I have another two hours before Professor Sinistra comes to relieve me. But never-you-mind. I have my own remembrances to observe." And without another word, he returned to the wooden pew he'd occupied before her entrance, oblivious to her presence.

She watched him for a moment before slipping out. She made her way back into Gryffindor Tower, thankful the celebrants had grown exhausted and gone to bed, and made her way up to her dorm. As she readied for bed, she saw Ginny sleeping and resolved herself to make a change starting tomorrow. She fell asleep that night with her eyes on a blue rose sitting in a vase on her bedside table, her own symbol of what she'd lost—and what she hoped she might still save.

000

_8 September, 1998_

The next morning, Hermione was in such high spirits that Denis Creevy asked her if she had been practicing cheering charms on herself when she ran through the common room—which she adamantly denied as she raced past. She'd woken up ridiculously late—by Hermione standards at least—and had rushed to scribble off a letter to Harry.

Knowing Ginny, she wouldn't bother telling him that she was upset at being stuck playing Seeker, and Hermione wanted to make sure Harry would be both understanding and supportive of her. She knew that Ginny would probably be upset with her for telling her boyfriend, but it wouldn't matter if it helped Ginny in the end.

After running the letter up to the owlry to give to Pig, she headed down to breakfast, her good mood bolstered. She didn't even mind the fact that Ginny paid her no mind as she sat surrounded by a clump of girls. She sat alone, as Dean had chosen to sit at the Ravenclaw table this morning, and looked up as the morning post arrived. She hadn't gotten _The Daily Prophet _while in Australia and she was still in the process of catching up on what had happened in the wizarding world during her absence.

A small owl delivered her copy of the _Sunday Prophet _and she scanned the front page, which was taken up by two articles, the first of which caused her to choke on her pumpkin juice when she read the headline.

**HORCRUXES — THE SECRETS EXPOSED**

by Rita Skeeter

_Over the past few months, we've all read account after 'factual' account of the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—now known as Tom Riddle—at the hands of our savior Harry Potter. We've even heard the 'truth' from mouth of The Chosen One himself. But just how 'factual' have these reports been? And while no-one can deny the fact that Mr. Potter was indeed the one to finally defeat Tom Riddle, it's been obvious for some time that he hasn't been completely forthcoming about just how he achieved such a feat._

Hermione continued to read the article that covered most of the front page and continued on pages 3, 7 and 8, as Rita did her best to drag not only Harry's name, but Hermione's as well, through the mud. She referenced their obvious avoidance of certain questions during their first press conference all those months ago numerous times, as well as their blatant lies about it being just the two of them on the run together before Ron's name was brought up, as well as the fact that their explanations for their break-ins at the Ministry and Gringots as well as their return to Hogwarts had never sat right with her. Skeeter also brought up the fact that their continued avoidance of the press since then was evidence indicating that she and Harry were simply trying to avoid future slip-ups.

Not that Hermione cared much. She'd guessed that sooner or later, people would get bored of writing nice things about her and Harry and figured Rita was the most likely candidate to throw the first stone. She had been tossing around lies about them since she was fifteen and Hermione wasn't about to start getting upset about them now, and figured Harry would feel the same way. What really bothered her was her account of the Horcruxes.

It was clear that while Rita had done a better job than anyone of piecing the story together—a process that was no doubt the main reason she hadn't written anything in months—she hadn't come up with all the facts. Although there was a rudimentary explanation of what a Horcrux was and how they worked, she didn't determine that there had been seven to start with (the story only mentioned the snake, the locket and the cup by name and guessed that a fourth had resided at Hogwarts and been the true reason for Harry's return to the castle).

While Rita emphasized the danger and difficulty in destroying such powerful objects, she also stated—incorrectly—that as each Horcrux was destroyed, Riddle's power had grown weaker, so that by the time Harry faced him openly, he had been a weakling capable of being defeated by any average wizard. Hermione briefly wondered how anyone would swallow that when there had been hundreds of witnesses who had seen Riddle dueling Kingsley and Professors Slughorn and McGonagall single-handedly during the battle, but recalled Mrs. Weasley once believing her to be two-timing Harry and decided that people would believe anything they read.

However the real kicker of the article was the fact that Rita claimed she and Harry had lied about the Horcruxes to build-up their own fame and roll in Riddle's defeat, while hypothesizing that they had allowed other wizards—greater in both ability and humility—to do the real work of destroying the Horcruxes, leaving Harry to defeat Riddle with a simple wave of his wand.

This alone was more than enough to ruin Hermione's good mood. Unfortunately, it didn't end there as the first article tied right back into the second. Returning to the front page, Hermione literally growled at the headline. As her hands crumpled the edges of the paper she started to read what Rita Skeeter had to say about the love of her life.

**THE MAN BEHIND THE HEROES — EXACTLY WHO IS RON WEASLEY?**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>AN: ****The chapter's title comes from the song "Candle" by Sonic Youth off their album _Daydream Nation_.**  
><strong>

Also, while I've been using a calendar to match the dates to their correct corresponding days of the week, at times during the Hogwarts terms, things aren't going to match up perfectly. But if JRK can magically have September 1st always land on Sunday so lessons can begin on Monday at the start of every term, and have holidays land on Hogsmeade weekends whenever it's convenient for plot purposes, I figured I can too.


	9. CH8: Black Celebration

**A/N: **As always, thanks to my beta** superfan24**.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Black Celebration<strong>

_4 May, 1998_

"You're okay with this?" Hermione asked.

"Okay isn't _exactly_ the word I'd use," Ron groaned. "But I understand."

"Do you?" she questioned, her big brown eyes looking into his pale blues.

He nodded. "_Do you?"_

"Well…I think it's just because I was there with him last time…" she'd almost slipped and said 'the only one there'. Thankfully she'd caught herself. No need to remind Ron of _that_, especially now, when she and Harry were leaving himbehind.

"It's not just that," he said, placing his hands on her hips. "You know the first thing he told me after we destroyed the locket? He told me you were like his sister, that you _are_ his sister, Hermione. And he needs his sister there if he's going to visit his parents."

Hermione was awash with feelings: touched beyond anything at Harry's words, confused over why _that _was the first thing he told Ron after they destroyed the Horcrux, and grateful for Ron over the unsaid understanding in his words. Harry had been so quick to forgive Ron for leaving them last year, especially compared to her, that she sometimes forgot anything had ever come between the two young men.

"Ron, you know you're like a brother to him. You're as much his family as I am. Probably more, if I'm being honest."

Ron made a face. "Dunno if I want to think about that right now."

"Why?"

"Well that'd make you my sister, too, wouldn't it?" he joked, as he slid his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, her arms circling around his neck.

She laughed, then pulled his face down to hers and kissed him with everything she possessed. "You'd kiss your sister like that?" she asked slightly breathless after they'd pulled apart again.

"Well…not Ginny…but maybe Fleur. You know…if she asked." Ron waggled his eyebrows.

Hermione slapped him playfully, though she put a little more force behind it than usual. "I'd rather you go to Ginny if you get lonely while we're gone."

Ron pretended to gag. "Hermione, that's just sick."

_Not much sicker than when you accused me of choosing Harry_, she thought. She reluctantly let go of Ron and walked to where Harry was waiting at the edge of the Burrow's anti-apparition wards. She looked back at Ron who was watching from the doorway.

"Don't worry; he'll be here when you get back," Harry teased.

Hermione blushed as she whipped her gaze away from Ron and tried to scowl at Harry, but couldn't help but smile a little at his smirk. "Oh shut up," she said, taking his hand and Disapparating the both of them together.

She hoped this trip to Godric's Hollow would be more cheerful than their last; they were themselves this time instead of disguised with Polyjuice, and they had left Ron only moments rather than weeks before, and they weren't hungry and freezing and desperate to find the remaining Horcruxes. But as they moved through the village, she kept glancing at Harry to make sure he was alright.

She'd never fully understood Harry's burning need to see his parents' graves during their journey all those months ago and was even more lost by his desire to return now. But, remembering how Ron had said Harry saw her as his sister, she resolved to keep her mouth shut and be there for Harry, no matter what he needed.

She followed him to the cemetery, but instead of heading through the gate to his parents' headstone, they headed to the small on-sight office where the sexton worked. She was insanely curious about what Harry was doing, but managed to maintain her silent support.

Inside they found an obscenely overweight man wearing denim overalls and seemingly nothing else behind the counter doing a Muggle crossword and puffing on a fag.

"Uh, excuse me," Harry asked after the man had failed to notice them in a minute's time. The man looked up, his face indicating that he was rather upset over being disturbed. "I was wondering if there were any open plots left in the cemetery I might purchase."

"Sorry, all filled up. Only empty plots are on-reserve," the man replied gruffly, returning to his crossword.

"Well that might be alright. You see, I think someone might've reserved one in my name."

"You don't say?" the man said with clear disinterest. "And who mightn't you be?"

"Harry Potter," Harry said confidently and once again Hermione was startled in the change that had overcome him since his return from the Forbidden Forest. He might forever hold the title in disdain, but he certainly sounded every bit The Chosen One.

The cigarette slipped from the man's lips and fell on the counter. He looked back up and gave Harry a double take. "Merlin's rosy arse! You are Harry Potter."

"I know," Harry replied, grinning slightly.

"You're here!"

"Obviously," Hermione muttered, her comment and presence going unnoticed.

"It's a real honor, sir," the man said, reaching out and pumping Harry's hand up and down with both of his own meaty fists. "A real honor. What you did for all of us…I mean…Oh sweet Merlin, wait 'till I tell Sheryl! She'll never believe me."

"I could give you an autograph," Harry said, only half-joking.

"Harry!" Hermione gritted out through closed lips.

"What? I'm about to ask him for a favor," Harry growled back, still smiling.

"Could you? I mean, would you really?" the man asked, searching around desperately for a quill and parchment.

Hermione sighed and conjured a quill that she handed to Harry. The man shoved the Muggle newspaper to him as well. "So should I make it out to Sheryl?" Harry asked.

"Forget the Missus. Make it out to Rudy Hamm," Rudy said with a booming chuckle that reminded Hermione of Professor Slughorn. Harry signed the paper and handed it back and Hermione vanished the quill. "Much obliged, Mr. Potter, much obliged."

"No problem," said Harry. "But I was still wondering if you could help me?"

"O'course, o'course. What was that you said you was needing? Oh right, a plot…plot…not planning on leaving us, are you?" Rudy said as he looked through his records, still chuckling. Harry smiled thinly, but said nothing. "Let's see here…Potter…Potter…Potter…ah yeah, here you are. Yup, looks like Dumbledore purchased three plots for your family."

Dumbledore? Hermione shouldn't have been surprised he'd been the one to make the arrangements for the Potters, and been considerate enough to make sure Harry could one day join them there if he wanted. She remembered that the late Headmaster's family was buried in here as well.

"Great. Well, then I was wondering if I could request two markers?"

"Two? But I told you there's only room for one grave."  
>"There's only going to be one body, but I still need two headstones. They're for my parents' most loyal friends."<p>

It only took a second for Hermione to connect Harry's words with names; Sirius was the obvious choice, and with Remus being buried elsewhere with Tonks that only left…Snape.

"Is this what you were talking to Kingsley about when I was off with Ron?" she asked and he nodded. Hermione worried her bottom lip. "Are you sure about this Harry?"

"Well I don't think they'd fancy sharing a headstone, do you?" Harry said, grinning at her.

They left Rudy's office twenty minutes later, after Hermione was reasonably satisfied that Rudy would order the headstones with the exact engravings Harry had requested.

"And Kingsley really said he would give you Snape's body?"

"Well, he said he didn't see anything wrong with it, now that he and McGonagall know the truth about how he was on our side. There's no-one else to claim it, and seeing as most of the world still thinks of him as Dumbledore's murderer, Kingsley reckons no-one would make a fuss if I took it. I'll have to write him when we get back to the Burrow though to check it's still okay."

"Are you planning to have a service for him or something?" Hermione asked nervously.

"No," he answered immediately. "I mean, it's still a lot to think about, how Snape really wasn't anything like we thought."

She understood and didn't question him further. She couldn't imagine the conflict in Harry's mind, trying to reconcile the man that had despised his very existence for six years and thought to be both a traitor and murderer had actually not only been a hero, but in love with Harry's mother.

They came to his parents' final resting place and just as she had a Christmas, Hermione conjured a wreath—though this one was made of lilies rather than roses.

"I did it Mum, Dad. We did it. He's gone." His voice was choked and she didn't need to look at his face to know he was crying. It was all he said.

Even though Harry had invited her, practically insisted on it, a part of her felt wrong for being there, like she was intruding on his private moment. But at the same time, she felt so happy to be there with him. And although she'd been there when Riddle had fallen, she realized it wasn't until that moment that she was sure it was finally over. It was here Harry had proclaimed it, in the place where—for him at least—it had all begun over sixteen years ago.

She too was crying, but seeing as Harry seemed unfettered by his own tears, she didn't bother to wipe her own away. Instead she reached out and took Harry's hand in hers and felt his fingers immediately tighten around hers, silently saying goodbye.

She didn't know how long they stood there or how Harry finally determined that it was time to leave, but eventually he turned and began walking back toward the kissing gate, pulling her along behind him.

"Thank you Harry," she said quietly as they walked.

"For what?" he asked, his voice back to normal.

"For asking me to come with you."

He smiled at her, but said nothing. It was ridiculous. After everything, he still had trouble expressing his feelings. But that wasn't going to stop her, not this time.

"And for what you said about me." When he looked at her obviously confused, she explained. "Ron told me what you said, about how you think of me as your sister," she said shyly.

She could tell he was embarrassed, which was why her heart swelled when he didn't just brush her comment off. "I meant it. You're like my family, Hermione. I know you still have your parents—"

"You're my family too," she interjected, blushing. "I've always felt that way."

He bumped her shoulder affectionately as they continued walking. "But I think of you and Ron as my family. I have for a long time. And all the Weasleys, too, I guess."

"Then why didn't you ask Ron to come with us?"

"It's…it's not like that. It's a guy thing. We're not comfortable getting all soppy in front of each other."

"Isn't that what family is for? They're the people you can share everything with."

"You really think Ron used to go and cry to Fred and George or Charlie?" he joked. "Or Percy?" He added after a moment eliciting a laugh from both of them.

"I suppose not," she said, her thoughts turning back to Ron. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" They were back at the kissing gate now, ready to apparate back to the Burrow.

"Why did you say…what you said…to Ron after he destroyed the locket?"

His smile disappeared and she felt him release her hand. "He hasn't told you?" She shook her head. "I'd thought he told you already. Thought that's how he got you to forgive him. Figured he told you the whole story and that's how you knew what I said to him."

"He only told me what you said today. He doesn't talk about the locket. Actually he refuses to talk about it every time I bring it up."

"Hermione I—"

"Please, Harry. I need to know what happened, why it still bothers him so much."

Harry shook his head. "It's not my place. If he doesn't tell you, that's Ron's business." Hermione frowned, disappointed. Reading her dour expression he spoke up again. "Look, Ron said you destroyed the cup, right?" She nodded. "Well did it…say anything when you went to stab it? Did it do anything to try and stop you?"

Her thoughts turned back to that nightmare for a moment before she banished the memory from her thoughts. "It showed me things, things I'd never told anyone. It was like wearing the locket but a thousand times more horrid because I could see...them."

"Well, it did the same with Ron. I don't know how it compares to what the cup did, but it was bad, Hermione."

"It was about me." It wasn't a question.

"He knows it wasn't true. At least I think he does. I was there. I told him so myself," Harry told her, looking so uncomfortable that she couldn't bring herself to broach the subject again. "C'mon, we better get back," he said. Then, without waiting for her, he Disapparated. Hermione sighed, feeling like she was out of the loop on a secret she needed to know—as much as she feared the possible answer —and followed Harry back to the Burrow.

000

_5 May, 1998_

The next morning was the funeral for Remus, Tonks, and Tonks' father. The service had been poorly attended. Harry, Hermione and all the Weasleys had been in attendance, along with several Hogwarts professors, a number of Tonks' friends from her school days, a few other members of the Order, and Kingsley, who had only been able to stay twenty minutes before he left to get back to Ministry business.

After they'd gotten back from Godric's Hollow, Hermione had spent the night pleasantly in Ron's company as the Weasleys moved their belongings back to the Burrow from Aunt Muriel's house. But laying Remus and Tonks to rest had caused her contentment from the evening before to evaporate. She was dreading Fred's funeral which was set for the next day.

The one bright spot had been little Teddy Lupin, whom most of them were meeting for the first time. The child was nothing but giggles and grins despite the somber occasion, and her heart ached every time she looked at him. Though he had Remus's smile, she'd seen Teddy smile more in that one afternoon than his father had in all the time she'd known him.

He was certainly his mother's son. She'd see his hair go from black to violet to buttercup yellow to bright red—which he seemed to have fixated on, what with all the Weasleys present—since they'd arrived. She had to keep reminding herself that he was the reason his parents had willingly given their lives, and that his life would be better than Harry's had been growing up without parents. He had Andromeda who clearly adored him, and she had a feeling that he would be counted among the Weasleys' ever-growing umbrella of honorary family members—though it didn't escape her notice that the usually overly-motherly woman had yet to hold the child.

Harry for his part seemed determined to do his part as godfather. Though he refused to hold the boy—afraid that he would drop him—Harry had stuck close to the boy and his grandmother since they'd left the small cemetery Remus and Tonks had been buried in and returned to Andromeda's home. Hermione herself felt a bit odd around the woman, as she experienced a shock every time she looked in the face of the bereaved, and had mostly kept her distance after offering her condolences. She couldn't help but see Bellatrix in her sister's face.

Ron, who seemed to have no such hang-ups, was currently sitting on the settee in the lounge bouncing Teddy on one knee while Ginny sat beside him making goofy faces. It was astounding, and tugged at a part of Hermione she usually tried not to think about—the part of her that imagined herself and Ron as an old married couple with a house of their own where little red-headed children sat around reading to one-another.

He was a natural. At first she'd attributed his relaxed mood around Teddy to the fact that he'd grown up with a large family. But that couldn't be it. All of his brothers were older, and he would've still been a toddler himself when Ginny was a baby. In the end, she decided he got on with Teddy so well because he was still a child himself most of the time, no matter how much he'd grown up the last few years.

As she watched, her heart ached for this boy, this man that she finally could call _hers_, telling her with every beat to go and take Teddy's place in his lap and cover his face with kisses. At least until Ron had to ruin the perfect moment.

He brought Teddy's bum up to his face and sniffed. "Think this one's nappy needs a change," he said with his usual bluntness. He looked around for Andromeda, who had no doubt used the momentary relief to clean herself up.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "You can't just play with him then pass him off when he starts to smell a bit…"

"Foul?" offered Ginny helpfully.

"Well, why don't you do it then?" Ron asked Hermione, holding Teddy out to her. Hermione looked wary. She'd never been good with children her own age, let alone littler ones. Her time spent as a prefect had made that perfectly clear after she found out the first and second years preferred to take their problems to Ron rather than her. Ron! _Of all people!_

"You see? You don't want to do it either," said Ron victoriously. Hermione glared at him, though her shame lessened the impact. She was on the verge of offering to change Teddy just to wipe the look of smug superiority off Ron's face when someone else beat her to it.

"Here," said Ginny, standing up and holding out her hands "I'll get him cleaned up."

"He's all yours," said Ron eagerly, handing him over. Ginny headed off to the nursery and Hermione took her spot on the settee next to Ron who slouched down a bit so she could lay her head on his shoulder and close her eyes. She felt a soft jolt run through her when she felt Ron's fingertips brush against her hand. She made a grab for them, but Ron had other ideas and soon his fingers were writing invisible messages into the skin of her open palm and she felt herself on the verge of nodding off.

"You were really wonderful with Teddy," she murmured softly.

"Like that, did you?" Ron asked suggestively.

"I did until you had to act a prat." she protested. "As usual," she said, though there was undeniable affection in her tone. Unable to resist, she gave his cheek a quick peck.

"What was that for?" Ron asked.

"Always the tone of surprise," she replied.

But when Ron grinned, she thought about his question for a moment. Did she really need a reason to kiss Ron? Simply, finally, being allowed to after so long seemed like a fine enough excuse to her. She was on the verge of giving him another one when two witches—presumably friends of Tonks—walked in the room. Immediately Hermione pulled her hand away from Ron and drew it into her lap while scooting a few inches away from him as well.

The women shot her a pair of sad smiles and Hermione, feeling the heat in her cheeks, excused herself, leaving a very befuddled Ron behind her.

Unfortunately, someone was already in the loo, forcing Hermione to stand around in the hallway awkwardly waiting. As she stood there, she began to pick up the sound of voices coming through the open door of the next room over. She quickly distinguished that they belonged to Harry and Andromeda

"To be honest, you knew him much better than I did. He was only my son-in-law for less than a year, and he and Dora were so busy with the Order for most of it that I rarely got to spend much time with the man. But I could tell he was the right sort, good enough for my daughter at least."

"Mrs. Tonks, I—"

"Oh hush, boy. I'm sure Remus would've wanted it this way. You'll know when the time is right and which ones to show him."

"He…Remus, he…I was the last one to talk to him." Though Harry had not confided the exact contents of his conversation with the specters of the Resurrection Stone with her and Ron, Hermione knew he wasn't talking about a conversation with the living Remus Lupin. "He told me he wanted Teddy to know he was the reason—that he was trying to make a better world where Teddy could be happy."

"He did. And so did you."

"I'd like to come see him, if that's—"

"As often as you like."

Hermione listened uncomfortably, wishing the occupant of the loo wasn't taking so long; she hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Inside the room, she heard the ruffle of clothing and guessed that the two were embracing, followed by more mutterings too quiet for her to make out. Then, a moment later, Harry came out of the room, looking very surprised to come face-to-face with Hermione.

"Hi Harry," she said, wondering if it was worth pretending she hadn't heard his conversation with Andromeda. "I didn't know where you'd gotten to. I'm just waiting to freshen up, but someone's been in there for ages." As she said this, the door to the loo opened and a woman walked out, her nose turned up at Hermione as she passed, obviously having heard her.

For a moment, she thought about going in and just leaving Harry out there in the hall. But she couldn't resist. "Are you alright, Harry?"

He withdrew several vials containing a silver vapor from his pocket. "Mrs. Tonks gave me these."

"Memories?" she asked, fascinated. He nodded and she remembered something she'd heard Andromeda mention. "To show to Teddy?"

He shook his head. "She asked if I wouldn't mind showing him some of my memories of Remus when he gets older, stuff from when he taught at Hogwarts or when we stayed at Grimmauld Place with him and Sirius."

"Then what are those for?"

"He left them to me in his will. They're memories from when he and my Dad and Sirius were still at Hogwarts." He paused, considering the vials. "I think he knew that he wouldn't make it through the war, that none of the Marauders would be lucky enough to see Riddle defeated."

Hermione hoped that hadn't been the case, that Remus had removed the memories simply as a precaution. The man had had enough burdens without the knowledge that he was living on borrowed time for the last two years since Sirius died.

It suddenly struck her at how difficult it must have been for him to connect with Harry. He'd been forced to take a backseat to Sirius as Harry's official godfather. And even after his friend had died, he had kept his distance, trying to remain close and supportive without the appearance of trying to be a substitute for Sirius or James.

Hermione couldn't imagine what it would be like to feel that your very existence was a stain, an embarrassing burden to your friends, your spouse, your children. All because of the actions of a monster. Yet never once could she remember hearing him complain. When he spoke of his condition, it had been with a resigned sadness, and Hermione couldn't help but feel grateful that Teddy had not suffered the same curse.

"Harry," Hermione started, reaching out to comfort him. But, slipping the memories back into his pocket, he turned and strode down the hall in the other direction. A moment later, Andromeda emerged from the room. This time her appearance did not bother Hermione, as she could recognize no trace of Bellatrix in her, not with her eyes still red and puffy from crying for her daughter and husband.

Andromeda sniffed, and smiled. "Now, where is that boy? I'm sure he's putting up quite a fuss."

"Ginny went to change him, though she's probably finished by now," Hermione offered helpfully.

Andromeda mouthed a silent thanks and followed after Harry.

Hermione just stood there in the hall, her trip to the loo forgotten, truly dreading the next day.

000

Several hours later, Hermione awoke, wondering what had disturbed her. She'd been sleeping peacefully in Ginny's room, dreaming of absolutely nothing as far as she could tell. She checked the clock. Half past three. _Too early to start the day_.

She tried to go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning for twenty minutes, she gave up. She threw on her dressing gown, grabbed her copy of Lycanthropy: The Curse of the Moonthat she'd been reading before bed, and crept quietly from the room so as not to wake Ginny.

As she shut the door, her nostrils with assaulted with the strong aroma of something burning. She went to the kitchen to see why Mrs. Weasley had gotten it in her head to cook at four in the morning, and why she was doing such a poor job of it. But she wasn't at all prepared for the sight that greeted her.

It looked like a food hurricane had swept through the room. There was flour and onion skins everywhere. Over the sink flashed a pair of knives doing a rather poor job of peeling potatoes that floated out of a sack unaided. On the counter was a large mixing bowl where two spoons were stirring so vigorously that its contents continually flew over the edge. The stovetop was covered with half a dozen pots and pans. And in the middle of it all, crouched down and peering through a cracked oven from which a cloud of black smoke was billowing was Ron, decked out in his Mum's apron and assorted ingredients.

She couldn't help it; she giggled.

Startled by the unexpected noise, Ron stood, and in the process his head connected with a pot handle, tipping it over so it's contents—which might have been an attempt at beef stew—spilled out on the stovetop. "Ow! Fuck," Ron said, righting the pot with one hand and rubbing his head with the other.

Setting her book on the kitchen table, she hurried to his side. Seeing his wand on the counter, she grabbed it and vanished the mess, then took Ron's face in her hands and bent him over to inspect him for lumps.

"I think you'll live," she said, releasing him and allowing him to straighten up after a moment.

"Thanks. Bit worried there for a mo'." Ron said this without meeting her eye. Following his gaze, she realized her dressing gown had come undone and he was staring at her chest. Not that her nightgown was any more revealing than what she usually wore, but she supposed she had practically just shoved his face into her breasts when she checked to see if he was hurt.

Still, she folded her arms across her front, which seemed to break Ron's focus as he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers. She didn't necessarily mind him looking, but it still unnerved her.

"You don't have your wand on you?" Ron asked her, noticing his own still in her hand.

"Oh, no. I left mine upstairs. And don't you say anything. I know I should keep it with me at all times, constant vigilance and all. Mad Eye would have a hippogriff if he knew."

"Actually it's kinda nice, innit, not having to worry you might come down here to find a Death Eater instead of me. Feels like it's finally over."

She smiled at him, remembering when she'd gotten the same feeling in Godric's Hollow. "So what's all this?" she asked rather amused, mirroring his words from two days before.

"Brewing Polyjuice," Ron said dryly. "What's it look like?"

She rolled her eyes. "I just never thought I'd see you like…this."

"Always the tone of surprise," he quipped, and she smiled at their shared joke. He went on. "It's what people do for these things innit? Tonks's Mum had all sorts of food at her house. Mum's the one who always does this sort of thing, and I reckon no-one else figured she might not be up to it. So I thought, maybe I could do the cooking for her. Least I could do." He shrugged.

"Have you ever cooked before?" He shot her a don't-be-stupid look and she laughed. "I thought not." She looked at several of the dishes and couldn't even guess what they were supposed to be. "Honestly, Ron what were you even trying to make?"

Ron's ears turned red. "Beef stew."

She shook her head. What was she going to do with him? "Usually you stick with something light for this sort of occasion, snacks and hors d'oeuvres and things of that nature. Not stew," she emphasized.

"Hermione, this is my family we're talking about. We're going to need to eat something a little more filling at some point."

Hermione was a little surprised that Ron's words made sense. "Well then I better help. Does your Mum have another apron?" she asked, trying to sound a little playful.

"S'okay. I got it."

"Ron, I want to."

"No, really it's fine," he insisted.

Hermione let out a hmpf. "This isn't about those mushrooms while we were camping is it? Because I don't remember you doing any better Ron Weasley."

He shook his head. "Just didn't want you feeling like you had to."

"How do you mean?"

Ron sighed. "You know you're a total nutter, right?" Hermione looked angry and he hurried to clarify. "No, not like that," he assuaged. "Just meant I can't get it right with you. Fourth year you practically hexed my bollocks off when you thought I finally noticed you were a girl. But it seems like ever since then you get hacked off every time I treat you like one. Make up your bloody mind."

She had to pity him. He was trying, and God knows she hadn't made it easy. "I don't _always _hate it when you treat me like a girl." Her words surprised her; they sounded coy, seductive, and apparently she wasn't the only who thought so as she saw Ron's eyes grow to the size of saucers. Feeling empowered, she stepped toward him, uncrossing her arms in order to slip them around his waist. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Ron bent toward her and they shared a kiss. His tongue teased her lips and they parted for him, and the kiss quickly grew from there. Try as she might, Hermione was still new at the whole snogging business, and several times she pulled back when her tongue got too boisterous and he gagged a bit.

Meanwhile, her hands slipped down to cover his bum and squeezed experimentally. _Oh God_, she thought. He was so firm, so tight. She felt her nipples harden against the fabric of her nightgown and a small throb between her thighs. Needing more contact, she pressed their bodies flush together. But her reaction was nothing compared to Ron's who had almost bitten through her tongue when she squeezed him. He cupped her rear and hoisted her onto the counter, moving to stand between her legs and was now kissing her with reckless abandon as she ran her hands through his hair.

Their mouths separated and she leaned back, gasping for air while Ron proceeded to plant tiny kisses along her jaw-line before moving to her ear. In between nibbles he spoke, his voice low and husky. "What's gotten into you?" he practically growled, sending another pang to her core.

She couldn't have responded if she tried. What _had_ gotten into her? Hadn't she practically run away from Ron hours before when two strangers had caught them holding hands? Yet here she was, moaning shamelessly as his lips assaulted her; and in his mother's kitchen, with Fred's funeral mere hours away.

Ron was right; she was a nutter.

Deciding that the situation could quickly escalate if she didn't put a stop to it, she put her hands against Ron's chest and pushed him away gently until he got the idea. Unfortunately, this had the side effect of reminding Hermione just how much she liked his chest and she quickly began reconsidering her attempt to stop their snogging session.

Thankfully (though it didn't feel that way to Hermione), Ron seemed to have gotten her original point. He placed his forehead against hers, his breathing rather shallow, his eyes still closed. "Sorry," he managed between breaths.

She licked her lips several times before she could get them to work correctly. "Don't be," she told him. "We should probably get back to work."

"Right," he said, finally pulling away from her and heading toward the scullery. She hopped off the counter and Ron returned a moment later with a second apron and they proceeded to salvage as much of Ron's cooking as they could.

"Seriously though, what was all that about?" Ron asked after they'd been working for ten minutes or so.

She thought about it: seeing Ron dressed in that apron, trying to cook for his family so his poor mother wouldn't have to, seeing him hours earlier playing so wonderfully with Teddy. It was the pure domesticity of the thing, of seeing Ron behave like…a husband, like a father, imagining it was their child he had bounced on his lap. It wasn't her fault that thoughts of a future with Ron turned her on almost as much as his body did.

She blushed. "I don't know what you're referring to Ronald," she said unconvincingly, refusing to look at him.

Ron stared at her a moment before returning to his mixing bowl, the subject dropped. She did however hear him muttering to himself. "Yup. Absolutely barking."

000

_6 March, 1998_

She and Ron worked through the rest of the morning. Hermione really wasn't much better at cooking spells than Ron, but they had Molly's cookbooks to help them, and fewer dishes met with disaster with two sets of eyes to keep watch on everything.

Other Weasleys slowly filtered through the kitchen as they worked on. Percy and Fleur even joined them in the preparations, which made things proceed much more smoothly and quickly as the older wizards had a great deal more experience with household spells. Eventually Fleur told her and Ron to go and get cleaned up and dressed. When they reached Ginny's room and it was time for them to separate, Hermione had been reluctant to let Ron out of her sight. Something in her didn't want him off alone, not today. So she showered, quickly, borrowing the same modest black dress she had worn the day before from Ginny again, and hurried to rejoin Ron and everyone else in the living room.

They Apparated to another small town in Devon near Aunt Muriel's house, Ron bringing Hermione by side-along as she had never been there. She was surprised, but not displeased, to find that Muriel would not be attending. In fact, Fred's funeral made the one for Tonks and Remus seem as grand as Dumbledore's by comparison. Outside of the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, the only others in attendance were Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan, Kingsley, and a dark-haired woman Hermione had never seen before. The Weasleys had also invited Andromeda, but she had Floo-called earlier and informed them that she couldn't make it on account of Teddy.

It was a beautiful day. Unlike the previous wizarding funerals Hermione had attended, there was no official speaker. Instead, at some point it had been decided that the family only wanted those who knew Fred best to speak. But seeing as there were so many of them, it would be for the best to just let three of them talk, otherwise they'd be there all week.

Bill, being the oldest, had insisted on speaking first. Hermione listened to him tell stories of Fred and George as kids that had Lee laughing and Molly crying. He shared with everyone a story of how they had once changed Percy's hair color to blonde and convinced him that his red hair had merely been the result of a glammer charm that finally wore off and that he was actually adopted and not really a Weasley. He also joked about how he and Charlie had been able to get away with murder before they moved out because Molly had always assumed if there was trouble, Fred and George were the cause of it. Though he put on a brave face, Hermione heard Bill's voice catch in his throat several times. She glanced at him. Though he tried to be strong, tried to set an example as the oldest, he cried through his jokes, blinking constantly in an attempt to keep the tears from running down his cheeks. The whole time, Fleur was beside him, stroking his face with one hand and holding his body to hers with the other, trying to hold him together even though she too was breaking. Though Hermione had softened towards Fleur since witnessing her declaration to Bill in the hospital wing after Greyback's attack, it was not until that moment that she saw her not as Bill's wife or girlfriend, but as a true member of the Weasley family, perhaps more deserving of that name than Hermione herself—a realization that left her feeling chilled.

Next to speak, surprisingly, was Percy. Unlike Bill, Percy sobbed openly, releasing a floodgate of emotion he'd kept bottled for years. The sight of Percy, the most stoic, emotionless person Hermione had ever met, was quite disconcerting. His words came out mushy, and he often had to repeat himself several times before he could be understood.

"Fred was the first one to forgive me. Well, the first after Mum, but we all know she doesn't count." A few of the Weasleys let out little wet laughs, as did Hermione. "He just called me a moron, shook my hand, and that was that; like I had never turned my back on my family. That was Fred. I don't think he ever hated anyone in his entire life. He was almost never angry. His jokes and tricks weren't mean, well, not most of them anyway. It was his way of letting you know he cared."

He took off his glasses and ran his sleeve across his face several times before continuing. "I was there with him, when he…when he…when he…" he had to break off again, his entire body trembling. Mrs. Weasley was positively howling by this time, letting her own fat tears stream down her face. _Certainly no family on earth has a collection of bigger hearts than the Weasleys,_ Hermione thought as Percy struggled to continue.

"We were fighting and I…I made a joke. I don't think I'd ever seen Fred look so surprised. He was laughing…when it…happened. And I know I've always been an ambitious prat…but I know nothing I will ever do will make me prouder than knowing I gave Fred his last laugh. I'm just…I'm just sorry I wasted so much time these last years. I never even saw the shop."

Percy looked like he had more to say, but after ten minutes nothing more was coming. Hermione glanced around at the family. Arthur, who seemed to be holding onto Molly as much for his own sake as for hers, looked to be struggling as hard as Bill to appear together, but was failing just as miserably as his eldest son. Next to him sobbed Charlie, the sight of whom was almost as disturbing to Hermione as Percy, though for different reasons.

Charlie was the Weasley Hermione was the least acquainted with, but she'd gleaned enough from Ron's comments over the years to understand how unusual his behavior was. Charlie was the tough one, the brother with skin as tough as leather and emotions to match. She was fairly certain that Ron's own tough guy, 'I-don't-have-feelings-because-I'm-a-bloke' routine had been developed in an attempt to emulate Charlie.

Surprisingly it wasn't Harry that Ginny clung to for support, but Hermione, the younger girl burying her face in the crook of her friend's neck to hide her tears and muffle her sobs.

And she couldn't forget about George, thought after her first glance, Hermione had been unable to look at him. He looked like he hadn't slept in a month, his whole face seemed sunk and sallow, his eyes blank. It almost made her wonder if they had buried the wrong body. During the service he simply stood there, swaying with every puff of wind as his hollow gaze remained fixed on Fred's gravestone:

_Frederick Gideon Weasley_

_Born 1 April 1978 Died 2 May 1998_

_Mischief Managed_

George had insisted on the last line, and it remained his sole contribution to the day's preparations.

While they'd worked in the kitchen, Ron told Hermione that after Bill and Percy agreed to speak at the funeral, they had decided that the last slot would go to George. But if he wasn't up to it, that he, Ron, was supposed to speak up.

"What do I say?" he had asked her worriedly. She hadn't responded. What could she have said, except to speak from the heart? She knew that though the simplest words from Ron could stir things inside Hermione in ways no-one else ever could, she also knew he would never be a man known for his words. Luckily he hadn't really expected her to answer and the matter had been dropped.

Everyone looked to George; everyone except Hermione, who looked to Ron, her heart thumping like mad.

She'd been staring at him since they left the Burrow, only glancing at the others when they drew her attention with a loud moan or sob. He stood in-between George and Harry, looking stoic and decidedly un-Ron. He'd never been a crier, but he was prone to bouts of rage and anger, and seeing him look so calm, so peaceful, was disquieting. He'd just been looking at Fred's coffin since they'd arrived, immune to the miserable state of his remaining family going on around him. And Hermione had watched him, willing him to look at her, to cry or shout or do anything other than blink on occasion. All she wanted was to be there at his side, to take his hand, to touch his face, to just make sure he was really there, that Ron was still inside that stone exterior.

Next to him was Harry, whose focus and introspection seemed to match Ron's. She was worried about him as well, having watched him grow increasingly withdrawn since their visit to Godric's Hollow and she was afraid if Harry's bottled grief would turn to guilt or recklessness as she'd seen happen so often in the past.

But the truth was, she didn't want to try and help Harry. She'd always devoted herself to helping Harry before anything else. She'd even stayed with Harry when Ron had left them. And the one time she'd failed to offer her support to Harry, the one time a loss had hit her as hard as it hit him, Ron had stepped up to hold and comfort her at Dumbledore's funeral. And now it was Ron who had lost someone and the irrational side of her—the same side that dreamt of little red-headed children bouncing on Ron's knee—was shouting that it didn't matter that Molly was the one practically screaming in agony, that Ginny was crying on her shoulder, that George looked like he might drop dead himself at any minute; the only thing that mattered was Ron, the boy whose eyes, whose entire body usually shouted with every bump and ache he felt. Because right now, those eyes, that body, said nothing.

It was ridiculous. Ron couldn't lie to cover his arse, couldn't hide what he was feeling if you promised him a thousand Galleons if he succeeded. Yes, Hermione hadn't always been able to read his expressions as accurately as she could now, to the point where it sometimes seemed like Legilimency, but the expressions had always been there, waiting for her to decipher them. Even when he'd worn the locket and she'd hardly recognized him, she'd still seen bits of Ron peeking through.

When it's clear that George wasn't going to say anything, Ron cleared his throat. "I don't think Fred would've liked this. I mean, he probably would've thought it a bit funny for a mo', to see us all getting soppy over _him _but then he'd get bored. He liked laughing, not crying. I saw him cry once when I was little. It's how I learned to tell him and George apart actually. It just looked so weird to see him like that, so wrong. But after that, when I looked in his face, I could see where the lines would appear to turn his grin into a frown. I never saw him cry again, but I could see the potential there."

It was much quieter now that Ron was speaking. There were still a lot of tears, but Mrs. Weasley and Percy were the only ones audibly sobbing. Even Ginny had lifted her head from Hermione's shoulder to look at her brother.

Hermione saw Ron frown, as if unconsciously imitating his memory of Fred. "No, I don't think Fred would've liked this. We should probably go."

A crack sounded almost immediately, signaling George's departure. Ron looked where his brother had been standing, then flicked his gaze back to Fred's grave, then finally looked at her.

It was the first time he'd met her gaze in hours and instantly she saw his gaze wasn't nearly as blank as she'd thought, not even close. His usual pale blue eyes had darkened to the point that they were almost black and seemed to swirl like a vortex. He smiled at her then spoke. "I'll see you back at the Burrow." His words were meant for all of them, but she felt like he was speaking directly to her. She nodded and he turned on the spot, following after George.

000

After Ron left, the rest of the group returned to the Burrow. This time Hermione had to side-along Ginny. Ron met them there, though George was gone. Apparently he'd arrived just in time to witness George tearing apart Mrs. Weasleys' clock, the bits and pieces of which remained scattered across the living room.

"You didn't try and stop him?" asked Bill. Ron shrugged.

"Seemed like he needed it. He left right after. I dunno where he went. I would've gone after him, but I knew you lot were coming back and didn't want you to find both of us gone."

Eventually, Lee, Alicia, Angelina, and Katie decided that they would go look for George, knowing some of the places he'd frequented since moving out of the Burrow, insisting all the Weasleys stay put at home. Kingsley too had left, but promised he'd put the word out to a few friends to keep an eye out for a ginger-haired man missing his left ear.

After finally managing to pry Ginny loose, Hermione had gone over to Ron and taken his hand, not caring who saw. "Are you going to be all right?"

"M'fine Hermione."

She looked in his eyes again. He wasn't lying, but she didn't believe him. "It's okay to be sad. Just look at your Dad, and Bill and Charlie."

"I am sad." He said it so simply, so plainly that it brought tears to her eyes. She moved to embrace him, but he stopped her. "Would you help me with the food and everything?" he asked. She only nodded.

It was such a nice day that they set everything up outside in the hopes that the sunshine would remove some of the gloom. When she and Ron finished bringing everything out to the tables Bill, Charlie and Fleur set up, the pair of them stood alone in the kitchen.

"You should go sit down," he told her. "You're probably exhausted."

"What about you? Aren't you coming?" Again she wanted to hold him, wanted to demand that he cry or get angry or just do _something_. He was starting to frighten her a little.

"I will in a minute. I just want to clean up the mess in the living room."

"I'll help you—"

"Please, Hermione," he said sternly. "Just go."

A little hurt, Hermione turned sharply and strode into the yard. She saw Bill, Fleur and Percy sitting together at one table, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with Charlie and Ginny at another. Harry, she noticed, was walking alone in the field. She considered joining him, but if she hadn't had any luck with Ron, she probably wouldn't be able to get through to Harry. She really didn't have the energy or desire to even try. Instead, she sat down at the empty third table.

She felt odd, and a little guilty. She had liked Fred a great deal. Although not exactly close, he and George had always felt like older brothers. They never exactly teased her they way they did Ron, but they caused her plenty of trouble. But the twins had also been nice and friendly to her. Thanks to Ron, they'd actually been instrumental in getting the other Gryffindors to stop treating her like a pariah in her first year. And she certainly had grown to admire him for following his dream and not bending to his Mum's will.

Eventually Ron emerged from the Burrow. He glanced in her direction, but didn't sit with her, choosing instead to follow Harry in his patrol of the field. After a while, the dark-haired woman who'd been at the funeral came and sat beside her.

Hermione hadn't paid much attention to her earlier, but seeing her up close made her notice that the woman was absolutely breathtaking: she was tall with long, silky hair that fell almost to her waist, and a rich tan. Without the Veela factor, she might've given Fleur a run for her money.

"I'm Audrey," she said, extending her hand.

Hermione took it. "Hermione Granger."

"A pleasure," she said awkwardly. _Funny how death and funerals made the simplest of conversations seem strained and inappropriate_. "So which one's yours?" Audrey asked, nodding toward the collection of red heads.

"_Mine?_" Hermione had come to terms with the fact that she was a jealous person during sixth year, but she'd never really considered herself a possessive one, especially when it came to people. Was Ron hers? Did she want him to be? _You certainly wanted him to be yesterday…and early this morning_, the voice in her head told her and she felt herself grow warm at the memory. Deciding it was best to say something, she pointed to Ron. "The goofy looking one."

Audrey smiled. "Ron, right? Percy talks about him a lot, but he never mentioned he had a girlfriend."

Hermione felt strange, partially because she really wasn't Ron's girlfriend—at least not officially—and partially because this woman whom she'd just met knew about their relationship when almost no one else did. Well there was Harry, and Ginny probably could tell, but the rest of the Weasleys had been too wrapped up in grief to notice the new intimacy between the bushy-haired know-it-all and the youngest Weasley male.

On the other hand, it was a bit of a relief, having someone know. Hermione wanted to bathe in the new joy she'd found with Ron, wanted to wake up every morning with a smile on her face knowing they were together and safe, and go to bed with that same smile as she slipped into dreams about their future together. She wanted to walk around with her hand in his, kiss him every time they were in the same room, keep him within sight at all times. And most of all, she realized she did want to claim him as her own, and for him to do the same in front of his family and the whole world.

"We haven't been together very long. It's still new, so we haven't really told everyone, with all this going on." Hermione didn't need to explain what 'all this' was referring to.

"Well I think Percy will be pleased to hear when you decide to tell everyone about the two of you."

Feeling a bit of camaraderie with this woman, Hermione spoke up boldly. "So you're with Percy?" Audrey nodded. "How long?"

"Twenty-eight months," said Audrey. She was smiling, clearly lost in a memory, possibly of when they'd first met. Hermione was shocked. She was relatively certain none of the Weasleys had known Percy had been seeing anyone, let alone the same girl for over two years. She also didn't know how Percy could put _that _kind of look on any woman's face.

_Then again, the Percy I saw today clearly isn't the same Percy I knew from Hogwarts. Or the one who sent that letter to Ron fifth year._

"You know, he doesn't look so goofy to me," Audrey said softly, nodding at Ron.

"To me either," admitted Hermione, blushing a little.

"You're worried about him." It wasn't a question. "Everyone grieves in different ways. My parents were in love, but when my Mum passed away five years ago, he never cried. At least he never let me see him cry. Sometimes the easiest thing to do is be strong for those who need you. Just try and let him know you're there if he needs you."

Hermione smiled, not really wanting to talk about Ron. "How is Percy doing?"

Audrey's face drooped a little. "Percy is…I really don't know how he is. I'm not sure if _he_ knows how he is. I think everything that's happened has got him even more confused than upset. It's like he doesn't know _who_ he is anymore."

Hermione looked at Audrey. She wondered if dealing with this was easier for her—having never met Fred and not knowing any of Percy's family—or if that just made things more difficult. But Hermione could tell she was experiencing similar feelings. "None of them do," Hermione said sadly, turning back to look at her favorite family in all the world.

Some commotion caught her eye and she saw Harry walking determinedly toward the table with Arthur, Molly, Charlie and Ginny, Ron a step behind him, tugging on Harry's shirt as if trying to get him to stop.

Hermione stood, sensing trouble. Mrs. Weasley and Arthur looked up, seemingly having finally run out of tears, to look at Harry. "Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about Fred—"

"Stop it Harry," said Ginny.

"It was all my fault," Harry continued, ignoring her. "I got you all mixed up in the fighting. If I hadn't become friends with Ron—"

"Stop it Harry," said Ginny, now pleading with him.

"—this never would've happened." Harry's voice was louder as he had to talk over Ginny. "After everything you've done for me, both of you," he said, turning to Mr. Weasley as well. "I'm sure you don't really want the guy who got your son—"

"Harry, just SHUT UP!" shouted Ginny. She was crying again, as was Mrs. Weasley, But Harry was practically shouting as well, too focused in getting his point across to stop.

"—killed staying at your house. But I'll be at Grimmauld Place if you need anything. Gold, anything, just tell me and I'll—"

It happened in a flash. She saw Ron pull back his arm, then drive his fist into Harry's cheek, sending him sprawling into the dirt. For a moment, she was reminded of the night Ron left, of the fight between him and Harry, and she felt herself getting sick at the thought of another break in their friendship. But immediately Ron bent down and hoisted Harry back to his feet, dusting off his suit but not letting go of him.

"Stop being a git right now, Potter. You hear me?"

Mr. Weasley was on his feet, speaking in an angry, yet controlled tone. "Ron, stop it."

Ron ignored his father, instead grabbing Harry's tie and forcing him to look at Ginny. "Do you see what your guilt is doing? She can't stand to be around you. Not because she thinks you killed her brother, but because she can't stop thinking about him when she looks at you. You won't let her forget about him, forget that Fred's gone."

"Ron!" Hermione cried, running over to them. Despite the horrid reality of the scene, somehow a part of her felt relieved. That punch and the reasons behind it was the proof she'd been waiting for that Ron could still feel, that he was still Ron.

"Every day he holds on to that guilt is another day Ginny has to hold on to her grief," Ron tells her without looking at her.

"Ron, it's only been a few days," said Charlie.

"I'm not saying I want her, or anyone else, to forget about him. But there's a difference between remembering Fred and missing him, and remembering that he's dead and not coming back."

It was perhaps the most insightful thing she'd ever heard Ron say. It should have been obvious, but Ron was the only one of them to pick up on it. But that made sense in a way; he'd watched Harry deal with his own guilt and grief all these years. He'd been there when Harry saw his parents in the Mirror of Erised, and when Harry found out about the Resurrection Stone. It actually made Hermione feel ashamed to have not come to the same conclusion.

Mrs. Weasley stood and rushed to the house in tears. Hermione saw Ron follow her with his eyes, looking both relieved and guilty. But then he looked back to Harry and she saw his anger return. Hermione half-expected Ron to shout 'Look what you made me do' at him. Instead, Ron marched back to the house after his mother.

Everyone was shocked and seemed to be at a loss how to respond, except Charlie who pulled a distraught Ginny into an embrace and a lost-looking Harry who walked over to the table Hermione and Audrey had abandoned and sat down by himself.

For her part, Hermione knew where she wanted to be, and after the most fleeting of looks at the Weasleys, she too made her way to the house, marching up the stairs to find Ron sitting on his bed, his head in his hands.

"If you've come to lay in to me, would you mind saving it for a bit. I feel bad enough already that I don't think you'll have much of an effect."

Hermione closed the door behind her. "Why would I lay into you?" she asked, sounding almost amused.

Ron still didn't look at her. "Well let's see: I caused a scene, I punched my best friend, and I made my Mum lock herself in her room."

Hermione came and crouched down in front of him in between his legs, so she could look up at him. She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face, but he kept his eyes on the floor. "Look at me. Hey, I said look at me." He did. "I'm not mad at you. You were just trying to protect Ginny. And your Mum…and Harry" Hermione added after a moment. "You didn't do anything wrong and don't you dare think otherwise, not after what you just got finished telling Harry about blaming yourself. You've been so strong today, for everyone. And you did the right thing when you asked everyone to come back from the cemetery." She cupped the side of his face with one hand, feeling a bit of rough stubble, while her other hand stroked his hair.

"I didn't even want to have it," he told her, sounding like his anger was fading. "Fred wouldn't have liked it, and I can tell George didn't want it either. It was killing him and Mum to be there, but…"

"But Percy needed it. And Charlie. And Ginny and your Dad," she finished for him. He nodded.

"I just didn't know how to make everyone happy."

Her heart was breaking. "That's not your job. And you couldn't have. No-one could do that. Not today. But listen to me: I am so proud of you for trying. In fact I've never been more proud of you." He looked at her in disbelief and she reached up to kiss him to prove her point. Kiss two-hundred-twenty-three was easily the worst they'd ever shared. He didn't kiss her back, didn't move his lips at all and Hermione's kiss was stuck somewhere halfway between a tender peck and a genuine snog.

She pulled away, wishing she could wipe her mouth without looking ridiculous. But then she saw his shoulders give a hiccup and saw his eyes were swimming with tears. And when he started sobbing a moment later, she sat next to him on the bed so she could hold him, like he had held her at Dumbledore's funeral, whispering that she was still so proud of him and that things would turn out alright.

She was sure this was a good sign, sure that Ron needed to let go of his grief before things could get better. It also meant a lot to Hermione that he could cry in front of her. He hadn't been crying when she'd found him here alone; no, he'd waited until she joined him. She hoped it meant that he trusted her to take care of him, the same way he always tried to take care of her.

"He wanted to get married," Ron sobbed.

Hermione was lost. "Who?"

"Fred. Said so at Bill's wedding last summer." He let out a sick-sounding laugh. "Made it out like it was a joke, same way he makes—made—everything into a joke. But you could tell…tell that he meant it." He hiccupped. "So much for that 'eh?"

"Ron…"

"Sorry…being stupid."

He finally seemed to be calming down. She reached out to wipe his cheeks with her fingers, then kissed them, then both his closed eyelids, and then his lips again and was pleased when he responded softly. Not for the first time, she became aware of just how _warm _Ron was. She'd noticed when she hugged him for the first time during third year. Actually, a small, childish part of her believed she'd first noticed while she'd been petrified in second year. She'd been stuck in a cold, blank world, empty of light or sound. But occasionally she'd felt a small twinge in her fingertips, like a spark of heat and had since convinced herself those sparks had been Ron's touch when he'd come to visit her.

It made Hermione feel warm—though in a very different way—whenever she was close to him. Like right now. And as she deepened their soft kiss, trying to tease Ron's lips open with her tongue, her fingers loosened his tie and undid his collar and the top buttons on his shirt. Remembering their encounter the night before, she slid her hands underneath and felt his chest, felt his heart beating inside, and he shivered at her cold touch.

She moved her face back to look at him, to make sure this was okay, but he only looked confused. She bent her head and planted a kiss on his collarbone, then another, then another, this time a little lower on the hard plane of his chest. She could feel Ron trembling with anticipation and arousal and soon he was pulling her downward so they lay side by side on the bed and put his hand on her back, pulling her against him as his lips found hers again. It was then that she felt it.

She shouldn't have been surprised. She'd felt his erection pressed against her earlier that morning as they snogged in the kitchen, and a few times before as well. She'd even caught a glimpse of it once or twice by accident over the years. But this was the first time she felt it when they'd been alone, together, in a bed, with the door closed.

It was all too much. She could feel the blood in her own body rushing south as well and had to act. She tilted her head back as he attacked her neck with his mouth, reminding herself to check the mirror later for love bites before going back outside. While he was distracted her hand squeezed his leg, her fingers sliding along the smooth fabric of his trousers until they encountered his belt. Fumbling, her hands started to make short-work of his belt and zip.

"Hermio—" Ron started to protest when he finally noticed what she was doing but she cut him off with a kiss, pulling his shirt out of the way. Her palm rested against his stomach, and slid down the light trail of hair and under his shorts.

She felt Ron's hand land on her thigh, pushing her dress up and out of the way. A moment later, he was squeezing her, his hand sliding up the back of her leg until he encountered the fabric of her knickers, causing her to break out in goosebumps. Inwardly she cringed, wishing she'd worn something more enticing that the white cotton pair she had on. Then she remembered she didn't really own anything more enticing. Even the dress she had on was Ginny's.

Trying not to wonder if Ron would be disappointed in her knickers, she finally slid her hand down the light trail of hair below his navel and under his shorts and touched his…his…

_Oh God_, she thought. _I'm touching Ron's cock! His hand's on my bum and I'm touching his cock! _It was so hard, so smooth, so hot against her skin, and she rubbed her thighs together as another aching pang shot through her.

Good girls did _not_ do this. Not that she believed there was anything wrong with sex before marriage. In fact, her parents had actually encouraged her to do so, her father especially, telling her it was important to date around and make sure she found someone she was compatible with. And most importantly, not to fall in love with the first boy she met. And though she hadn't exactly done a great job of following _that_ piece of advice, she'd wanted Ron Weasley for too long to wait for him to work up the nerve to give her a ring.

And as she started to slide her fingers over him experimentally, heard his breathing hitch, felt his hips jerk as he gave a sallow thrust, she realized if _this _was wrong, maybe Hermione Granger no longer wanted to be right all the time.

Still, a part of her kept reminding her that they'd only been together four days. _How long had it taken him to do this with Lavender_, she wondered. This thought only spurred her on and removed the last of her reservations as she slid her palm up and down the underside of his cock.

She had no idea what she was doing; she knew the mechanics of sex, knew the head and underside of his shaft was where he was most sensitive, but she had no clue what he liked or would give him the most pleasure. She thought about asking Ron what he liked, but felt herself grow even more heated at the thought. Besides, from the way one of his hands was kneading her bum and the other pawed at her breast enthusiastically, she guessed she was doing something right.

Hermione did her best to continue kissing him as she fondled his length, but this was growing increasingly difficult, especially when she felt Ron's hand slide from her breast to her hip and then again to cover her sex.

God she was soaked. She hadn't even realized it until he cupped the damp fabric of her knickers. Then, the hand still cupping her bum pushed her forward, right into the palm of his hand, which pushed back with equal resistance, creating a delicious friction in her center. She let out a whimper as he did it again and again, effectively bucking her hips for him until his guidance was no longer needed and she was grinding against him of her own free will.

He turned then, until she was on her back and he hovered over her. She looked into his eyes and saw them burn with lust and desire and she felt her nipples harden under his gaze. He leant down and kissed her as she felt his fingers parting her folds while another dipped inside her.

"Oh, oh. Oh god." The sounds escaped her involuntarily. His finger was so much bigger than hers, only _just_ stretching her. But before she could even start to move against him, it was gone. "Ron?" she questioned, wondering if he was having seconds thoughts, before she gasped as his now damp finger touched her clit. She jumped, as the wave of pleasure from that fleeting contact was so intense. She whimpered as he grazed the bundle of nerves again and she bucked her hips. She knew she was soaking his sheets, and had probably ruined Ginny's dress but she didn't care as he flicked over her nub again and again until she was rolling in delicious agony.

She'd come to terms with the fact that Ron had touched Lavender and she had touched him in return; the only other option was to give up on Ron completely, which meant it wasn't an option at all. But still, it was unfair. She hadn't anticipated that his experience would make him such an expert. He certainly hadn't looked like one when he was trying to eat her face.

Her hand had clamped down around his length when he'd first touched her, but she'd long since stopped her ministrations. Quickly she began to stroke him, pumping up and down in an effort to keep up with his rhythm. But then she felt his finger dip back inside her while another circled her nub and all thought of pleasing Ron was gone. She was bucking against him as one long finger cricked inside her over and over. She was moaning, and shaking and clutching the back of his neck with one hand while fisting his sheets with the other. And then, in one surreal moment, it was over, and her insides were clenching together and her thighs were pinning his hand to her, desperate to keep him there, desperate to push him away as her body calmed down.

She put a hand to her chest, as her breathing fluttered. God, it had never felt like _that_ when it had been her fingers. Little shocks rolled through her body, and each shift in their bodies reminded her that Ron was still touching her. _Oh God_, she thought. _I hope Mrs. Weasley couldn't hear me._

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><p><strong>AN: **The chapter's title comes from the song "Black Celebration" by Depeche Mode off their album _Black Celebration_.

The idea for having 'Mischief Managed' written on Fred's headstone isn't mine, but it's too brilliant not to be canon. It came from **little0bird**'s fic The First Day (chapter 4, specifically). It was the first post-Hogwarts fic I ever read and remains one of the best. Easily the longest Harry/Ginny fic I stuck with all the way through (though R/Hr only shippers should note **little0bird** has a whole series of stories set in the same universe, some of which are R/Hr centric). I seriously recommend anyone who's a fan of Harry Potter to check out this author and this universe.


	10. CH9: What I Want Is a Girl

**A/N: A**s always a big thank you to my beta superfan24. Actually she deserves some extra thanks this chapter because I was late in getting it to her and she got it back in near record time anyway.**  
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><p><strong>Chapter 9: What I Want Is a Girl<strong>

_13 September 1998_

Ron Apparated outside the Leaky Cauldron then made his way into Diagon Alley and toward Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He was late: an extremely uncommon occurrence since he'd reopened the shop. In fact it had never happened until three days ago. And then it had happened again on Wednesday and then again yesterday.

He couldn't help it. The shop had been a great distraction for the past few months, an escape from worrying about his Mum and George, from thoughts of Hermione and his own uncertain future, but since Rita's article came out on Sunday the shop had been swarmed by reporters, fans and hecklers and he just did not want to deal with it.

He didn't see what the big deal was about Rita letting everyone know about the Horcruxes. He hadn't seen the point in hiding them in the first place and if anyone had asked his opinion, he would've said it was better to just get it all out in the open than try and lie about it. Hadn't they learned anything from their dealings with Griphook? They had been careful to hide their real intentions when they made their deal with the goblin to break into Gringots, but the goblin had seen right through then and ended up double-crossing them anyway. Why had Harry and Hermione believed they could get away with only telling half the story of how they beat Riddle, especially after that disaster of a press conference right after the last battle? They should've known better, especially Hermione.

Of course, that was easy for him to say. He'd skipped out on the whole thing, which, until now had worked out great for him.

Since his name had come up during the interviews, everyone in the wizarding world knew Ron had played some role in Riddle's defeat, that he'd been with Harry and Hermione for the past year and of course that he'd fought in the last battle. True, he wasn't as famous as Harry or Hermione had turned out to be; he didn't receive daily requests for interviews or offers for book deals or public appearances like they did. But the fact that Hermione and Harry originally tried to hide his involvement and his complete lack of contact with the media had resulted in an aura of mystique surrounding the name Ron Weasley.

It was perfect, in his mind. He didn't have to deal with the obnoxious trappings of fame like Harry did, but nearly everyone in Diagon Alley recognized him and called him by name. He had a twenty percent discount at Quality Quidditch Supplies and got a free box of Chocolate Frogs every time he visited Sugarplum's Sweets Shop. And every once in a while, when he saw a group of kids playing, he could hear one of them shouting that he got to be Ron Weasley. It didn't matter if there were four others all fighting over who got to be Harry. To at least one of them, he was a hero.

Back in June, Kingsley had suggested a few books to Harry to help him catch up on some of the things he and Ron had missed out on by not returning for their seventh years as well as some basic healing and tracking spells that were an Auror's bread and butter along with the defensive and concealment spells Harry already knew, and Harry had been studying ever since. It was impossible to get three—really four—years worth of studies done in three months time, but that was the plan. To that end, Harry had been in training six days a week, ten hours a day since he started his crash course a week after their trials. Harry said he didn't mind all the work, and Ron believed him. Harry had been itching to do something for months. He'd helped out at the shop at first, but it was obvious he didn't want to be there, not that Ron blamed him: while he felt a sense of satisfaction at getting the business running again, Ron only worked at it as hard as he did because…well, because what else was he supposed to do?

It had been fun at the beginning, trying out all of Fred and George's recipes for WWW products, which often ended in disaster. But Ron had become so proficient over time that he could now whip up a patented Daydream Charm in his sleep. He found it a lot like cooking: once you knew the basics, knew the ingredients and knew which ones worked well together, it was simple. It was so easy that he'd started coming up with his own ideas for new products.

_That _had been a real challenge of his abilities. Unfortunately, all of his good ideas seemed to relate back to Hermione in some way. And half the point of all his effort was to distract himself from thoughts of her, so after his initial burst of creativity, he'd given up on the idea of adding anything new to the shelves of the joke shop. He knew it couldn't go on like that indefinitely: any business would start to suffer if it was allowed to stagnate according to Bill, and he probably knew what he was talking about. Ron just had to hold on to the hope that George would get out of his funk and come back to work before that happened.

Since his training began, Harry had been so busy that Ron had barely seen him. It had bothered Ron at first: Hermione had left and now his other best friend didn't seem to have time for him. But he understood: Harry wanted to get as much work done while Ginny was away at school as possible. Ron understood what that was like, having done the same thing when Hermione first left for Australia.

It was especially tough seeing as it had taken Harry and Ginny an good month after the last battle to get back together. They'd somehow managed to work past the specter of Fred's death looming over all of them, not to mention deal with the gloom radiating from George and Mrs. Weasley (and from Ron himself if he was being honest). And somehow, Harry had even managed the difficult task of proving to Ginny that she was finally the biggest priority in Harry's life after having abandoned her for a year.

For Ron, that period had just been awkward. It had been painfully obvious how much they wanted to be together and he just wanted to knock their heads together and tell them to get over themselves. He also didn't have Hermione to run to, which resulted in a great deal of awkwardness, where the three of them sat around, Ron doing most of the talking, while Harry and Ginny took turns sending one another meaningful looks. Thought he'd found it difficult to see his best friend and sister so miserable at the time, a part of him was proud of Ginny for making Harry wait and work to earn her love and trust. Most things came easy for Harry, but if there was one thing that deserved his full efforts besides defeating Riddle, it was Ginny's affections.

Still, it didn't make Ron miss having fun with his best mate any less. So he'd decided on Sunday that he and Harry would go flying, and he wouldn't take Harry's usual answer of being exhausted from training as an acceptable excuse. That had been Ron's role all during their time at Hogwarts after all: Hermione had been the one to get them all to buckle down and do their work when necessary while Ron was the one who lightened the mood when things got too serious and made sure they actually enjoyed themselves from time to time. It was an easy job really, at least compared to Harry's which had been to defeat the most powerful evil wizard in over a century and save the world. And even if Harry no longer needed Hermione to nag him to open a book, he still needed Ron to help him relax.

So they'd gone out right after breakfast after extending the usual invitation to George asking him to join them—which he rejected with an eloquent grunt and a request to save any extra bacon sandwiches from breakfast.

Unfortunately, they'd only been flying a quarter hour when Percy came and told them Kingsley was there and asking to see them—just enough time to finish goofing around and start playing a game of chase where they both acted as Seekers and tried to catch Harry's first Snitch, the one that had previously contained the Resurrection Stone. As they traipsed back to the Burrow, their brooms slung over their shoulders, Ron had known the life he'd become accustomed to since July was truly over.

Outside the shop was the crowd of reporters Ron had gotten used to dealing with over the last four days. He pushed his way through them, ignoring their shouts as he tried to get inside: "Mr. Weasley, would you care to make a statement…Mr. Weasley can you confirm that you personally destroyed all of You-Know-Who's Horcruxes without the help of Mr. Potter and Miss Granger…Mr. Weasley is it true your so-called friends did everything they could to keep you from joining the aurors because…Mr. Weasley would you care to explain what it cost you to destroy such dangerous objects…Mr. Weasley do you think Mr. Potter is really qualified to be an auror considering the allowances he's been given to bypass the usual protocol…Mr. Weasley why do you continually refuse to speak to the press?"

"Because you're a bunch of lying slags who don't know when to fuck off, that's why!" Ron shouted back before finally reaching the door and quickly escaping inside. It wasn't he most diplomatic of responses and he couldn't help but grin momentarily at Hermione tearing him a new one for it before the scowl returned to his face.

"I'll be in the office," he told Verity as he passed her, not waiting to see if there was anything to tell him. As he settled in behind his desk—it still felt odd that he, Ron Weasley, had a desk—he thanked Merlin for the millionth time in the past five days that the reporters weren't allowed inside the shop unless they actually made a purchase, a tactic that had kept them outside after they nearly bought out their entire stock by Wednesday afternoon. It had been Verity's idea—if it had been up to Ron, they wouldn't have been allowed in under any circumstances since he couldn't ignore their flashing cameras as easily as he could their questions—but she'd convinced him it would be bad business and bad press to be seen throwing people out of the store. Ron scoffed at the idea of bad press. For the moment, _he _was the Chosen One; he doubted he could do wrong if he tried. He could probably slaughter a baby unicorn in the middle of Diagon Alley and the press would spin it to look liked the fawn had been some sort of menace to society and Ron had saved the wizarding world yet again.

Ron had known when Kingsley showed up at the Burrow a month ago that things were changing once more…and once again he'd known it was for the worse: first there had been the trials. Then, he'd had to deal with having Hermione back in his life...well, not exactly so much back in his life per se, but she was back in England, which was still too close for Ron's comfort. And finally came the blasted articles, which only served to cement his fears as reality.

When he and Harry found Kingsley waiting for them in the Burrow's living area, Kingsley had shoved a copy of the _Sunday Prophet _at each of them. What followed was a twenty-minute silence while they both read through Skeeter's articles. They'd fixated on the one about Horcruxes initially. At first, Harry had been furious: how had she managed to dig up all these facts? He'd practically been on the verge of pointing the finger at Kingsley as if the whole mess was his fault until the Minister explained that there were a million different ways for her to have gotten the information, considering how many people knew at least a piece or two of the puzzle. "Besides," Kingsley had explained, "unless you want to force her to take Veritaserum or hold a wand to her head, there is no way to determine her sources."

Harry had clamped his mouth shut at this point and managed to calm down. For his part, Ron had considered telling Kingsley that they knew Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus, and could've easily spied on the Ministry trials, their meeting with the Gringots goblins, or hell, even been in the room with them when he, Harry, and Hermione explained the whole story in McGonagall's office to her and Kingsley. But since Hermione left, Ron had learned to think before speaking and realized that the facts didn't add up: Skeeter's articles had some of the facts about the Horcruxes right, but not all of them. And if she'd had the story months ago, why wait until now to publish it?

_Besides, what was the point? _the little voice in Ron's head that sounded like Hermione reasoned? _The damage has been done, the article is already out there. And unless you have a Time-Turner handy to undo everything, arresting Rita now wouldn't change anything._

The voice was right. Still, that didn't stop Ron from squishing every beetle he happened across from now on.

Kingsley seemed to be in agreement with Ron's thoughts since he quickly moved the conversation to what they were going to do moving forward. He reasoned that while the damage had been done, there really was nothing to gain from either denying Rita's claims or in clarifying her errors. In fact, he practically ordered both Ron and Harry not to speak to the press under any circumstances, at least not until this mess blew over. It had been obvious since the first press conference that Rita was clever, ruthless and determined in her goal, and speaking to her or any other reporter would only provide further opportunities to have their words twisted and be asked questions they'd prefer not to answer.

For his part, Kingsley promised he would put out an official statement from the Ministry stating that he personally had asked Harry and the others to withhold certain facts about their activities the previous year for security purposes. And true to his word, the statement had appeared in Monday's paper.

Of course, this had left Harry in yet another strop, since safety had been his reasoning behind concealing the truth of the Horcruxes in the first place. While he couldn't exactly keep the article out of the hands of potential dark wizards who might find the words it contained informative, he could at least prepare for them in case they showed up. He'd canceled their plans to go flying and went to his room to study after asking Kingsley if there was any way to speed up his training.

This had left Ron alone with Kingsley. He'd only been alone with the man once before, but for some reason found him much more intimidating the second time, perhaps because he'd tried asking Ron to reconsider joining the Aurors. While Kingsley doubted this article was going to stir up serious trouble, it was yet another reminder that plenty of Death Eaters still remained to be captured and brought to justice. He also mentioned it wouldn't hurt to show the Ministry was continuing to bolster their forces after this slight embarrassment, or to show Ron and Harry working together once again and get rid of all the bad-blood nonsense.

Still, Ron had remained resolute and told Kingsley thanks, but no thanks. Unfortunately, after he did, he'd had to ask whether the Burrow still had all the extra security and protective enchantments put in place after the Weasley family returned at the end of the war. Thankfully, Kingsley had been understanding—he didn't like the idea of reporters swarming the Burrow to get a glimpse of Ron or Harry and bothering George or Molly in the process any more than Ron did—and assured Ron that no-one would be bothering his home.

Unfortunately, that didn't do Ron much good when he was at the shop. Because as bad as the nonsense with the Horcrux article had turned out to be, Rita's second article had caused him infinitely more trouble.

As if on-cue, there was a knock on the office door, and Verity entered a moment later, carry a large stack of letters.

"All that just from this morning?" Ron asked as she dumped the pile on his desk.

"No, they're from yesterday. I just held on to them because I thought they'd go down smoother if I gave them the chance to age a bit," she joked. "Yes, Ron, they're all from this morning. I know it's not really your fault, but it's getting to be a pain in my arse to sort through all of these just to find our Owl Orders."

Ron grinned, despite his foul mood. He liked Verity. When he was out on the shop floor, she was all business: confident, ruthless, and not above using her looks to get unsuspecting blokes to make a purchase without ever knowing what he was buying. But off the floor, and off the clock, she had a sense of humor dryer than a salamander and knew how to have a good time. And she was the only employee that didn't call him Mr. Weasley. "Sorry?" he said, clearly not meaning the word in the slightest.

"Can't you do something about it? I mean you _are _the famous Ron Weasley I keep hearing about right? The one who has his name in all the papers?"

Ron gave an exaggerated sigh. "Reports of my fame have been greatly exaggerated. I'm not really as big a deal as you would think. Kingsley made sure the Ministry is sorting through all the mail that goes to the Burrow, but since he hasn't bothered to do the same for the shop, I'm guessing he's only doing it for Harry's sake."

"Right, because Harry's feelings would be _so_ hurt by the fact that you're getting a hundred propositions by owl a day from eligible witches all over England. There were even a couple from France in this batch, and I think I saw one from Poland."

Ron shrugged. "Chosen One or not, he's not perfect. Don't tell anyone I told you," Ron said behind his hand, pretending like he was confessing a real secret, "but my best mate's got a bit of a fragile ego. It's the glasses; got called 'four-eyes' a lot as a tyke, and now he's afraid no-one thinks he's good lookin'. 'Cept my sister, but she's barmy. Would break his heart to find out he's not everyone's favorite hero anymore."

"Better a fragile ego than an inflated one, which seems to be what you're suffering from."

"Thank you, Verity. That'll be all," Ron waved her away in mock dismissal.

Verity placed her hands on her hips and Ron was instantly struck with an image of Hermione in that same pose. God, the two women were nothing alike, but he still somehow found a way to make the connection. Something was seriously wrong with him.

"You know," she replied in fake outrage, "I think you're getting a big head, thinking you can just send me away like I'm one of your fan girls."

"What? Is there a letter from you in here too?" Ron sifted through the pile, acting excited.

"No. But I did burn all the letters from the good-looking ones."

"Ah, the jealous type."

"I am," she said, her eyes flashing dangerously. "And so's my boyfriend."

And just like that, the game was over. After a quick run-through of what Verity needed him to do, she turned and left the office.

Ron wasn't completely thick; he knew he'd been flirting with her. And more importantly, he knew she'd been flirting back. He wondered what his sixteen-year-old-never-kissed-a-girl-self would make of him now.

Ron knew why it was so easy to flirt with Verity. He had confidence now: not from some stupid article or the pile of letters on his desk, but from having destroyed the locket, from taking down Greyback, from finding a way into the Chamber of Secrets. It also didn't hurt that Verity was completely safe: he couldn't get involved with her since they worked together for one; she had a boyfriend for another; and of course the real kicker, and the only detail that really mattered: she wasn't Hermione.

Ron rubbed his face, and swept all the letters off his desk and into the bin. He didn't have the time or energy to go through all of them. He saw someone had left yet another copy of last Sunday's _Prophet_ and he gave the newspaper such a glare of loathing he expected it to burst into flames as his eyes skimmed over the words he'd practically memorized.

_Ron Weasley, a good, loyal, and dedicated young man, and the only one of the three with a wholesome and proper upbringing in the magical world…Unlike Mr. Potter who has been romantically linked to dozens of young witches including longtime friend and traveling companion Hermione Granger and Mr. Weasley's own sister Ginerva, Ronald can only be linked to one girl during his school days, a Miss Lavender Brown…fought bravely in the Battle of Hogwarts where she suffered extreme injuries…Mr. Weasley, the first to visit her in the hospital outside her immediate family while she recovered…friends of the pair stated he'd spent years pining for the girl before they finally dated during their sixth year, a relationship that lasted longer than all of Mr. Potter's combined…wouldn't be going too far to suggest that Mr. Weasley has never gotten over their break-up._

Ron didn't know if the urge he felt while reading the article was to laugh or to vomit.

_Such loyalty, such humility from a remarkably ordinary young man who rose beyond his stature to the occasion and stood beside the Great Harry Potter and Hermione Granger…unfortunately he seems to shun attention and recognition…but the question is why?...As Potter's longtime friend, he suffered years of neglect at school, always finishing a distant second to his far more famous friend…despite winning the Quidditch Cup for his House team more often than Potter and earning the honor of a school prefect…is he once again being pushed to the sidelines by the fame-starved pair of Potter and Granger unwilling to share the spotlight…his supposed 'friends' know the old adage 'two's company while three's a crowd'…or experienced unspeakable traumas during the war, perhaps in the process of destroying Riddle's Horcruxes?...fearful of reliving such horrors...possible reconciliation between himself and Miss Brown…hiding their relationship to avoid public scrutiny out of respect for Miss Brown's sensitive condition._

_These are the questions the world is dying to know for which we have no answers. But if this reporter knows her quill from her hairpin (and you know I do), you can trust that if Ron Weasley is still single, he won't remain so for long._

The article talked on about the rest of the Weasleys, Ron's destitute upbringing, Fred's death, and Ron's reopening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and was accompanied by three photos: one of Ron outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes at its grand reopening, one of Ron in the midst of the celebrations following Gryffindor's victory in the Quidditch Cup sixth year, and one of Ron leaving Lavender's room at St. Mungo's the day after the battle.

At first, Ron had actually enjoyed the article, even with the Lavender nonsense thrown in. It made him look like a saint and he'd even saved a copy for his Mum in case she ever got around to caring for her living children again. It was nice to be put on the same level as Hermione, on the same level as Harry even, after years in their shadows.

Sure, he realized it wasn't really about him. He knew Rita was only trying to make him look good in order to cut down Harry and Hermione by comparison. And he knew that some of the compliments were practically veiled insults. But so what? Hermione herself had said the best thing to do was just ignore all the gossip and soon or later it'd go away. And what if he'd been a bit pleased? That was okay, right? The whole thing was a joke, a laugh, really.

As it turned out, there was nothing funny about it. His first piece of fan mail arrived an hour after he finished his talk with Kingsley and by the time lunch rolled around, he had nearly fifty letters. He'd taken his time to sort through them. They were very complimentary for the most part and Ron forgot that these people now proclaiming themselves to be his biggest fans probably couldn't have spelt the name Weasley twenty-four hours earlier.

It was especially flattering seeing as most of the senders seemed to be young witches. He even recognized a few names as having been in the years above him at Hogwarts. Apparently, they had really focused on Rita's last line.

Unfortunately, the fun quickly wore off when he showed up to work the next day: not only had he been forced to deal with the mass of reporters, but his army of fans had shown up just to see him and he'd been disappointed to find that most of them weren't nearly as fit as he'd been picturing from their letters.

And while Verity soon became annoyed with the influx of fan mail that showed up at the shop, she actually encouraged those who showed up in person. She instituted the same policy for them as she had for the reporters: if you want to hang around the shop, you have to buy something. Ron had actually spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday as bait, after Verity forced him out of the stock room and onto the shop floor where she made him chat up the lonely birds until they bought a WWW product or two.

Ron wasn't much of a salesman usually, but it had been easy. The women had been practically begging to spend time with him, and if he wanted to tell them about their Wonder Witch product line as they followed him around the shop, they were more than happy to listen. The problem was all the _touching_.

It wasn't anything inappropriate…well, mostly. He had gotten a few pinches on his bum that made him jump, but mostly the ladies had resigned themselves to brushing his arm, or touching his hand or shoulder. There'd even been a few daring girls that had asked him for a hug. But it was the constant touching that got to him, like he was never the sole possessor of his body. And finally Verity had allowed him to retreat once more to the office, telling him he'd been a good little whore with a great deal of satisfaction.

Ron couldn't help but wonder what Hermione would make of all this. She had to have seen the articles in the paper, unless the Hermione that came back from Australia no longer had the need to read every word ever written. Would she laugh about the whole thing? Would she be upset about how she and Harry had been portrayed? Would she be jealous of all the attention Ron was getting?

He hoped the latter would be the case, but couldn't be sure. Hermione was sharp enough to figure out that he hadn't really needed to give Pig to Ginny; she had the two-way mirror Harry had given her for her birthday, having somehow managed to find a pair that worked the same as the one Sirius had given him years ago. And she could just pass messages to the family through Harry, or borrow a school owl if she really needed to send something in print. So surely Hermione had realized Pig was more for her benefit than Ginny's. The question was would she send _him _any letters?

Ron really wasn't sure if even wanted to get anything from Hermione. He'd come up with the stupid plan after their last day together in Diagon Alley, which had felt so much like old times, like she'd never left. But after she kissed him and he'd gone home, he remembered what she'd done and decided to chicken out of seeing her again on Platform 9 ¾ when the family went to see Ginny off. What was she likely to say if she did write him? He'd decided after their lunch in Diagon Alley that there was no point in him bringing up what had happened; if they were going to talk about it, try and get passed everything that'd happened, _she _would have to be the one to broach the subject.

And boy was he desperate for that to happen. It felt like fourth year all over again after he saw her with Krum at the Yule Ball. He was too afraid of simply asking Hermione outright if she was dating the ruddy tosser, but he'd circled around the question, testing the waters when the opportunity arose. And at the beginning of fifth year, she'd finally given him the answer he'd been waiting for, the answer he'd hoped for.

_Pen pals_. She'd told him they were just pen pals, and look how that turned out. They'd been no more than pen pals the same way he and Lavender had been no more than study mates. So really there was no point in asking her, he reasoned. She could just lie again. And then what? He could distrust her and call her out on it and end things in an even worse state than they were now, or he could believe her. There had been a time when he believed everything she said. Why would he _not_ believe Hermione? She was his best friend, honest to a fault and a bloody genius. Sure, he hadn't always acted like he accepted her at her word, but he'd learned to pay attention to everything Hermione said, because she always meant it and was always right. As far as Ron was concerned, Hermione's word was the absolute truth.

Except with Krum. He'd believed her then—the one time he should've doubted—because he wanted her answer to be the truth, believed her when deep down, he'd already known better but didn't dare face it until Ginny made it impossible to ignore.

No, he was absolutely resolute about _not_ asking her about her time in Australia or why they practically had to drag her back to England. If she wanted to clear the air, she could bloody well come to him. Only then would he believe she really wanted to explain things and get the truth out in the open.

And so far, she hadn't sent him anything. Oh, sure she'd sent Harry a letter—something about Ginny stuck playing Seeker, blah, blah, blah—but nothing for Ron. He'd thought Rita's articles would incite a response out of her, but obviously she didn't care that all of England knew Ron Weasley was a catch, didn't care that he wasn't likely to remain single for long, didn't care that he was likely to get back together with his ex-girlfriend Lavender Brown.

Well, maybe not that last bit. Ron pounded his fist on the desk. He had come in today despite all the nonsense at the shop to distract himself, yet here he was, drowning in thoughts of Hermione. He pushed his chair back and stood up, trying to flatten his hair; if he was going to go back out there to face that flock of harpies, he might as well try and look good while doing it. Those love potions weren't going to sell themselves.

_000  
><em>

_14 September, 1998_

It was going on one in the morning and Ron was _not _happy to still be up. After the day—no, the week—he'd had, there was nothing he wanted more than to crawl into his bed and shut his eyes. Unfortunately, he was stuck waiting up for his git of a brother to get home.

Work had been miserable. There were so many people in the shop that they'd kept knocking over the displays and sending WWW products scattering across the floor where they were kicked or trampled on by the mob. And some witch practically old enough to be Ron's mum ran her hands through his hair, saying it was the most exquisite shade of red and she just _had _to touch it. And worst of all, Verity had decided they should open the store early the next day to capitalize on Ron's popularity while the cauldron was still hot, which meant he had to be back at that godforsaken place in another five hours to get it ready. None of the other employees had been willing to show up before their scheduled shifts, which meant it would just be Ron and Verity together for three hours. He was absolutely dreading it. The girl was having far too much fun at his expense with the whole article situation. In fact, he was starting to think Fred and George had schooled her in the art of how to torment Ron Weasley.

He rapped his fingers on the kitchen table and took a sip of tea. Ron's irritation kept him from noticing the fact that it had gone cold half an hour ago. He had a book in front of him, but his exhaustion was preventing him from processing any of the words he read, so he was simply turning the page every now and then to keep himself occupied.

Its title read First Aid in the Field: Spells to Save Your Life. It was one of Harry's Auror books. Ron had taken to reading them when things were slow at the shop or when he was alone at the Burrow with only his Mum and George for company. It was one thing for Hermione to know all sorts of spells Ron could never hope to master, but even if his dream of being an Auror was dead, it still didn't sit right with him for Harry to know things Ron didn't. They'd taken all their lessons at Hogwarts together, done their best to get Hermione to let them copy their homework from her together, they'd even gotten almost the exact same scores on their O.W.L.s.

At the very least the books usually helped when he was having trouble getting to sleep—an occurrence that had become far too frequent for Ron's taste. It was strange really: for most of his first eighteen years he'd had no trouble slipping into dreamland the moment his head hit his pillow at the end of the day. The only times he had problems with sleep had been the first few months after Fred turned his teddy into a spider, on nights before a Quidditch match or trials, the first week after the end of fifth year when he'd worried over how Hermione was dealing with the injury she suffered in the Department of Mysteries and how Harry was getting on after Sirius's death, and during their nights at Shell Cottage after escaping from Malfoy Manor. But now it was practically a nightly occurrence, and Percy certainly wasn't doing him any favors tonight.

Yes, for once it wasn't George but Percy—dependable, boring Percy—who was still out at…ten past one in the morning. There were only two possible explanations in Ron's mind for his brother's absence: he'd either been attacked by Death Eaters, or he'd gotten into a robust discussion about cauldron bottoms and lost track of the time.

As if in response to Ron's thoughts, the front door of the Burrow opened and in walked Percy a moment later. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Ron waiting up for him. Before Percy could open his mouth to explain, Ron exploded.

"_Where_ have you been? It's not enough that I have to keep an eye on Mum and George, run the sodding joke shop, and convince Dad to relax after he gets home from killing himself all day at the Ministry where he's basically working two jobs for the pay of one. Now, I've got Harry flipping the fuck out over what that dingbat Skeeter wrote, Kingsley's on my case about joining the Aurors like he thinks half-immortal dark wizards are going to start popping up left and right, a hundred reporters badgering me every time I leave the house hoping I'll badmouth my best friends, and solicitations from randy witches looking to settle down with a bloody war hero, most of whom make Eloise Midgen look like Fleur—off-center nose or not. You're supposed to be the one I can count on to be normal and give me a fucking break, Perce, and here you are buggering off until all hours of the night. I mean what were you thinking?"

Percy opened his mouth to answer but clamped it shut again when Ron made it clear he wasn't finished.

"_Obviously_ you _weren't_ thinking. I mean what's gotten into you? You didn't tell me you were missing dinner—there're leftovers in the icebox, by the way; I made a pot roast. You didn't bother to tell Dad even though you were at the Ministry together all day. You didn't owl, nothing."

Ron knew he was being irrational, knew Percy probably did more work around the Burrow than he did and didn't deserve the abuse Ron was giving him. After all, Ron had scampered off to Australia at a moment's notice and left Percy to deal with everything around the Burrow just a month ago.

_But I did leave a note_, he protested internally, justifying his anger.

While his breathing settled down, Ron took a good look at Percy who still hadn't moved since Ron's assault began. He looked unaffected by his brother's ranting—unsurprising since no-one in the Weasley family took Ron's anger seriously, not after having to deal with the wrath of Ginny and Molly over the years which made everything else seem tame by comparison. But Percy did seem to be in some sort of daze, like he'd been star-struck, or perhaps been hit by a particularly nasty Confundus Charm.

"Well? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Ron asked, trying to maintain his stern demeanor.

"I'm…I…"

"Well come on then, spit it out."

"Engaged."

Ron's draw dropped. "What?"

"M'engaged," Percy said again. His face broke out in the same kind of dreamy smile Ron always associated with Luna Lovegood.

Ron blinked stupidly in disbelief, then grinned. Percy's sense of humor might be odd, but at least he'd finally found one to begin with. "Good one Percy. Would've had Fred in stitches."

"I'm not joking."

"It's all right. I'm not mad. But where were you, really? I mean you're okay, right?"

"I'm engaged."

"Okay, okay. You're engaged. So what happened?" Ron said, still believing Percy was joking.

"Well I hadn't seen Audrey all week; this nonsense with that _Prophet _article has thrown the entire Ministry into a strop and it's been mad trying to sort it all out. She owled me today and asked if I had any time to see her. And I decided to pop over for a few minutes after I was finished for the day before coming back here for dinner. But she started in on how she wasn't sure if we were doing the right thing, staying together. We've barely seen each other since I moved back home and started at the Ministry again. And she knows about the state George and Mum are still in and she was afraid she was taking me away from the things that were really important. Said that she was a distraction and thought it'd be best if we took a little break."

Forgetting for a minute that this was all an act, Ron marveled at just how insane most women seemed to be.

"I tried to tell her that wasn't the case at all, but she wouldn't believe me. I'd been planning on waiting a while longer before asking her, but it seemed like showing her the ring was the only way to convince her—"

"You had a ring?" Ron interrupted.

Percy nodded. "Bought it back in June. I've been keeping it in my desk at work so no-one would find it by accident."

Ron was starting to get into Percy's story. It was rather good. "So you went and got the ring, then what?"

" Well it took ages to get it; security's been stepped up this week and it took me twenty minutes to convince them of who I was and to let me back in. And then the house elves were cleaning my office and I had to wait for them to finish. By the time I got back I think Audrey was convinced I'd done a runner. She wasn't even going to let me in the door, but I shoved my arm through the crack and showed her the ring."

"And?"

"And what? I believe I did say I was engaged, didn't I? What do you think happened next?"

"You're…you're serious, aren't you?"

"Well I would hope so. That ring cost me two-thousand galleons."

That did it. Ron was convinced; his brother Percy was engaged. His tiredness forgotten, he let out a whoop and wrapped Percy in a bear hug, something Ron hadn't done since he was five.

Percy was stunned for a minute, but quickly responded, and soon the two were pulling out glasses and a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, singing in celebration. Unfortunately all the clamor roused the Burrow's other inhabitants.

"Wuzzgoinon?" muttered a sleepy-sounding Harry who nevertheless had his wand out and ready, protecting the Weasleys standing behind him on the stairs from the nonexistent threat.

"Another wedding! We're having another wedding!" Ron sang out. He didn't know why Percy's news seemed so wonderful to him; perhaps it had just been too long since anything wonderful had happened.

"Though' you an' Hermio—o—o—" Harry yawned. "Thought you two weren't speaking and now you're getting married? How'd you manage that?"

Ron didn't want to spoil Percy's moment with violence, but promised himself he would make Harry pay for that comment at some point. "Not me, you lummox. Percy. Him and Audrey."

The heads of Harry, George, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley all snapped to look in Percy's direction.

"Is that true, son?" asked Mr. Weasley, his face already breaking out into a grin. Percy only smiled wider, and nodded, seemingly incapable of speech at this point. Mr. Weasley moved to shake his son's hand, but after a moment decided that wasn't good enough and pulled him in to a hug. When they broke apart, both men turned to look at Mrs. Weasley expectantly.

There were tears in her eyes, but she wasn't smiling. She opened her mouth several times, failing to get any words out. Finally, she managed a quiet, "That's very nice dear. We'll talk more in the morning," and turned around and headed back to bed.

Quickly, hoping to distract everyone from his Mum's disappointing reaction, Ron hoisted the bottle of Ogden's and called out "Toast!"

The four Weasley men and Harry all moved around the table to fill their glasses and hoisted them eagerly.

"To Percy and Audrey," said Mr. Weasley.

"To Audrey, for finally taking Percy off our hands," sang Ron.

"To Percy for finally finding a bird who could love him besides Mum," said George. The other four turned to him, looking surprised. A joke from George was a rare occurrence these days, and even if it wasn't one of his better ones, it was still something.

"Can't expect any better than that," said Percy jovially. He downed his shot and the others followed suit.

"We'll have to celebrate," said Arthur, slightly wincing from the drink.

Percy, who was racked by a series of coughs, tried to wave his hand in protest.

"Nonsense," continued Arthur. "You've been working too hard, and you only get engaged once."

"Sure, we'll set it up for tomorrow since none of us have to be up early on Sunday," said Ron eagerly. "I'll tell Bill and Charlie tomorrow…wonder if Charlie can get a Portkey back on such late notice. We'll tell some of your friends and—"

"'Cept Percy hasn't got any friends," said George, casually pouring himself a second drink.

Ron liked bagging on Percy as much as anyone—it was certainly better than being the object of ridicule himself—but he felt George could be a little gentler on the night of his brother's engagement. Thankfully, Percy laughed, diffusing any potential tension.

"I'm afraid he's right. It would be a rather small guest list," he said.

"Well, that's alright. We can invite…" Ron trailed off, completely lost.

"Neville," Harry added, thinking fast. "We can invite Neville. I don't think he's been having much fun since Luna went back to Hogwarts."

"An' Lee," said George, now starting on his third Firewhiskey.

"And Angelina, Alicia and Katie," added Ron. "Ginny will be in a right state when she finds out she's missed this," he said gleefully. "I'll write her tomorrow when I'm at the shop."

They talked on for almost another hour before they all traipsed off to bed. It was decided that, considering the last party at the Burrow, they would go out to celebrate so as not to upset Mrs. Weasley. Unfortunately, the Firewhiskey had done nothing to Ron's excitement and he simply lay in bed until it was time to get ready for the shop, wondering at how strange it felt to be jealous of Percy.

000

"So let me get this straight," Verity called out while carefully arranging a display of Instant Darkness Powder, "You want to take Percy out to celebrate his engagement?"

Ron emerged from the stock room carrying a box of Headless Hats. "That's the idea."

"And who's all coming?"

Ron ran through the list for her. Since he'd been awake, he'd come in to work early and used the time to scribble a message off to Bill and Fleur and another to Ginny. He'd also Floo Called Charlie in Romania who promised to try and make it. Harry would tell Neville at training today and Ron still had to owl Lee, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie."

"So it's not just a guy's night? You're not taking him to a titty bar or anything?"

"A what?" Ron had never heard of a 'titty bar' before, but he could guess what it was from the name. He laughed. "You don't know Percy. He wouldn't be caught dead in a place like that."

"So where are you taking him?"

Ron shrugged. He hadn't really thought about it. "Dunno. Leaky Cauldron maybe." He saw Verity shake her head. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"No but you want to. Well come on, let's have it."

"Okay," she said, turning to face him. "You are planning on taking the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic out to celebrate his engagement when people are furious with the Ministry because everyone thinks they've been lying. You're bringing along Harry Potter, the most recognizable wizard in Britain. And you're going, and let's not forget that right now you're all anyone wants to talk about." She ticked off fingers of her hand as she spoke. "And you're planning on going to the Leaky Cauldron."

Ron suddenly felt very stupid, but wasn't sure why. "Err, problem?"

"Oh, no," said Verity sarcastically. "Not at all, as long as you don't mind getting mobbed tonight the same way you do here at the shop."

Ron hadn't really thought about that. He hadn't gone anywhere in the past week except the shop and the Burrow. "Right, so no Leaky Cauldron. Don't suppose the Three Broomsticks would be any better?" Verity only had to shoot him a look to let him know the Three Broomsticks would indeed _not_ be any better. He sighed. "Guess we could always go to some place in the village."

"By your house? In Devon?" Ron nodded. "Well you've got the right idea, but the wrong locale. See, you don't take a bloke out to celebrate the loss of his freedom for a quiet dinner party. But I think going to a Muggle pub here in London should take care of any unwanted exposure and guarantee a good time."

"I don't really know any Muggle places in London," Ron confessed. That wasn't exactly true; Hermione had taken him to a few places when he'd stayed with her before sixth year, and he'd been to Tater Tot Court or whatever it was called when they left the wedding. But none of those places seemed to match up with whatever Verity had in mind.

"Well you just need someone who knows their way around Muggle London."

Well, that excluded Ron's entire family. And Harry, for that matter. He tried remembering if Alicia was muggle-born when Verity gave a loud sigh. "What?" he asked.

"How did I ever end up with a blockhead like you for a boss," she teased. "I meant me, dung-for-brains."

"Oh," said Ron, his ears slightly red. His embarrassment quickly turned to suspicion. "Wait. What do you want in return?"

"Just an invite for me and Geoffrey to the celebration of your brother's pending nuptials," she said victoriously and Ron let out an exaggerated groan. "Now, what time do I need to be ready?"

000

By eleven that evening, Ron was seated at a large table surrounded by a raucous collection of friends, relatives and acquaintances—all of whom appeared to be completely pissed, or well on their way there. The place Verity had brought them to—some club called The Gutter—had indeed turned out to be very fun. There were two floors, each with its own bar; the top floor was filled with tables, including the one where they now sat, while the bottom was covered with a large dance floor, and he'd found it highly amusing to watch Audrey drag Percy out there repeatedly where he made a spectacle of himself trying to keep up with the blaring Muggle music. And the outing was definitely necessary after yet another long day at the shop, during which someone had tried to use a summoning charm on his pants.

Their group included Ron, Percy, Audrey, Harry, Charlie, Bill, George, Neville, Lee, Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Verity, and Verity's boyfriend Geoffrey. Mr. Weasley had been there early but had gone home to relieve Fleur of Molly-duty.

Besides Audrey, who'd only had one drink all night, and Charlie, who seemed to have a wooden leg, Ron was probably the most sober member left. He'd only gotten pissed once before in his life, and he wasn't looking to repeat the experience.

Ron took a sip of the drink Harry had ordered for him and looked around. Fleur had apparently shown up at some point and was now dancing with Bill while Charlie and Lee were dancing with Alicia and Katie respectively. George continued to down drink after drink while Angelina seemed to have found a balance between trying to match him drink for drink and simply keeping an eye on him. Percy seemed barely capable of keeping his eyes open and was slouched in his seat, his head resting on Audrey's shoulder. For her part, Audrey looked completely content as she played with the ring on her finger, a tiny smile permanently fixed to her face. Ron smiled, then turned back to Neville's and Harry's conversation.

Both of them were very relaxed and very drunk and unfortunately, pining for their absent girlfriends.

"How's Luna?" Ron asked, trying to join the conversation. It felt odd asking Neville such a question, but he didn't think he could get away with changing the topic completely, and he certainly wasn't going to ask Harry about Ginny; if Ron wanted to know what was going on with his sister, he'd just ask her himself.

"Dunno," said Neville. "S'not big on letters. I've written her a couple times since she left but haven't heard back from her yet." Ron listened to him go on and on, complaining about how hard it was to talk to Luna. Though he felt a little sorry for Neville, he couldn't help but feel like his friend should've know what he was getting into with the peculiar blonde girl. "Anyway, I just hope she writes soon to let me know when the first Hogsmeade weekend is so I can get the day off training."

"October twenty-sixth," said Harry, trying to take a drink and spilling half of it on his shirt. "Tha's what Ginny told me."

"You've heard from Ginny?" asked Neville. Harry nodded. "Would you," he looked around nervously to see if anyone else was listening, "would you mind asking her about Luna next time you talk to her?"

Ron's snort thankfully went unnoticed as Harry told Neville it was no problem. It was ridiculous; they'd only been gone for two weeks. Surely it was reasonable for Luna to be too busy to bother writing Neville yet. Or perhaps the problem was that things were so dull that Luna had nothing to talk about yet; Hogwarts was bound to be pretty boring this year with Riddle finally gone. Ron could certainly sympathize with not having anything to write about. He'd always had trouble writing to Hermione over the summer hols for that same reason, and how frustrated she'd get at him when he didn't owl her for weeks at a time.

"Are you planning to visit Hermione?" Neville asked, as if he'd been using Legilimency on Ron a moment before.

"No," Ron said, finishing his drink.

"You don't want to see her?" Neville asked, too drunk or too oblivious to catch Ron's tone.

"Neville…" Harry warned, but it was too late; Ron was already standing up and walking away. Hermione was the last thing he wanted to think or talk about tonight, certainly the last thing he wanted to talk about with all the happy couples around. Even the miserable blokes like Harry and Neville were only miserable because their girlfriends left two weeks ago to go to school.

_He thinks two weeks without a letter is bad, try two months_, Ron thought bitterly as he walked down the steps to the bottom floor and made his way to the bar. The line was ridiculous and Ron waited fifteen minutes when Verity came up from behind him and grabbed his shoulders, making him jump.

"Hey there stranger. What're you doing down here?"

"Drink," Ron grunted, inclining his head toward the bar.

"You don't say?" she mocked. "Here, tell me what you want and I'll get it for you."

Ron had no idea what he'd been planning on getting. He didn't know anything about the stuff Muggles served and he'd had Harry order his drinks for him up until now. He shrugged.

"Don't worry," said Verity, patting his arm consolingly. "I recognize that look and know exactly what you need." She tapped him on the nose and turned to leave when Ron grabbed her arm.

"Make it a double," he said. She gave him a mischievous grin before cutting through the crowd to the bar. _Sod not getting pissed_, Ron thought.

She was back less than a minute later, passing him a tall glass of something, holding a red fruity-looking thing for herself. She made her way to a small table for two near the dance floor and Ron followed her. "How did you manage that so fast?" Ron had to shout to be heard over the music.

Verity laughed. "All thanks to these," she said, grabbing her tits and squeezing them playfully.

Ron should've known. The top she worse left very little to the imagination. As he continued staring, he began to feel his ears burn and quickly looked away. "No, fair," he tried to joke. "Wish I had a pair."

"Maybe we should've gone to that titty bar," Very said, seemingly indifferent to Ron's discomfort.

"Do Muggles really have places like that? Where you can go and…"

"Ogle naked birds?" she laughed. "Yup. And you can do more than just watch if you pay for a lap dance."

"A…lap…dance." Ron's brain was trying to make sense of the words—a difficult task considering the things he imagined caused all the blood to rush away from his head.

Verity laughed again at Ron's expression, and touched her palm to his chin to close his mouth. "Sorry, it looked like you were about to drool. Remind me to take you for your birthday."

Ron's thoughts once again clouded over as he pictured a naked woman dancing in his lap, then pictured one dancing in Verity's lap. He felt his throat go dry and took a large gulp of his drink which prompted a coughing fit.

"Merlin's bollocks, Verity. What did you get me?"

"It's called a Long Island.

"Pretty strong," Ron said, taking another, smaller sip."

"Well I was already planning to get you a double and you asked me to double that so…"

"No wonder it tasted like Hagrid's cologne," Ron spluttered. "So you're saying this is like four drinks?"

"Four _very _strong drinks." Ron gaped at her. "What? You looked like you needed it." Ron couldn't deny that; it was already starting to help take his mind off Hermione. "So what's got your knickers in a twist?"

Ron ignored her question. "Thought you'd be off snogging Geoffrey somewhere. Won't he miss you?"

"He's off snogging a toilet." Ron gave her a confused look. "Sick," she explained.

"From the booze or from you?" Ron sniggered.

She gave him a light push on the shoulder and he pushed her back, continuing back and forth until he finally caught her wrist. He was suddenly very aware of how close they were. _When had that happened_? he wondered.

"What about you?" Verity asked, her voice low and heady. "Got your eye on anyone?"

Ron could feel her warm breath on his face, and his eyes flicked to her lips which were pouty and swollen from kissing Geoffrey. He wondered if he'd taste her drink on them if they kissed. He leaned in, and for a moment it seemed like Verity was leaning in too before some drunk blonde stumbled off the dance floor and into their table.

"Sorry," she giggled before heading back out.

The interruption had been just enough to kill the moment. What was he thinking? He'd almost kissed Verity. He couldn't do that; she was older and they worked together and she had a boyfriend currently tossing his guts out in the loo.

Verity seemed to have recovered her faculties as well and was looking more embarrassed than Ron had ever seen her. "Right," she stammered. "So any of them looking fit enough to you?" she asked, gesturing toward the crowded dance floor.

"Oh. Oh, no," Ron protested, shaking his head adamantly. "No way am I going out there. I don't even know how to dance to this barmy music."

"It's easy," she said. "It's just like shagging while standing up, only with the clothes still on."

Ron was about to tell her he didn't have much experience shagging—with or without clothes—but decided that wasn't the best move to help move past their earlier embarrassment. Verity took advantage of his lack of objection and grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the dance floor. Ron downed the rest of his drink in one go and allowed himself to be pulled along, wondering if Verity wanted him to dance with her, half-hoping she did.

To his mixed disappointment, that appeared not to be the case, as she led him through the crowd until she found a suitable girl dancing without a partner near some of her girl friends and shoved Ron in her direction.

Ron stumbled forward, throwing his arm around the girl's waist to steady himself. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"What?" the girl asked, turning to look at him, seemingly unbothered by their physical contact.

"Sorry," Ron repeated more loudly. "My friend…" he gestured to Verity who grinned wolfishly and gave him a little wave.

"Your girlfriend?" asked the Muggle girl.

"No—"

"Then dance with me," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Not knowing what else to do he tightened his grip on her waist and pressed their hips together, trying to move in time with the thumping music. It wasn't anything like he'd learned in preparation for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but Verity was right: it was easy. As they moved, Ron shot Verity a reproachful look and mouthed _I hate you _at her.

_Have fun _she mouthed back before taking a sip of her drink and disappearing back into the crowd, no doubt off to see if Geoffrey was finished with his toilet.

Ron danced with the girl for a few songs. She was indeed very fit and definitely knew how to dance and the alcohol was helping Ron forget about how ridiculous he probably looked. Eventually she pulled him off the dance floor and into a corner, for which Ron was very grateful.

"You're really tall," the girl told him.

"Uh, yeah?"

"I'm Amber."

"Ron," he replied awkwardly. _Why is talking to this girl so damn hard?_ he wondered. He'd had no trouble talking or flirting with Verity, so why couldn't he do the same with this girl whom he was actually allowed to snog? Well, he supposed she could have a boyfriend, but considering she hadn't minded grinding her hips into his obvious erection for the past half-hour, he guessed it wasn't a strong possibility. So why couldn't he just open his mouth and say something funny, something clever.

Thankfully, Amber made all further talking unnecessary as she pressed her lips to his and slid her tongue into Ron's mouth. Apparently she was good for more than just dancing, and Ron responded with great enthusiasm. Unfortunately the longer they snogged, the less Ron enjoyed it. Her hair didn't feel curly enough when he ran his hands through it; she didn't have to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him.

It wasn't guilt exactly—Ron really didn't feel like he owed Hermione anything—but there was still a sense of _wrongness _about it, and when Amber finally came up for air, he excused himself, saying he needed to run to the loo.

Instead, he found the exit and stepped out into a London alleyway. His head was spinning with the effects of the alcohol and the heated snog and the cool air felt good on his clammy skin.

He was pathetic. He'd run away from that girl like some inexperienced first year. And what for? It had been a damn good snog—perhaps not as good as Hermione, but certainly better than Lavender. In his anger, Ron took a swing at the wall of the club and immediately felt a sharp throbbing overwhelm his dulled senses when his fist made contact with the brick building.

Of course he knew what his problem was: one word, eight letters. He knew he wouldn't have given Amber a second glance if it wasn't for _her_, wouldn't have almost kissed Verity earlier if not for _her_. It was like Lavender all over again; he was hurt and desperate and couldn't have what he wanted. Or could he?

_No,_ his mind protested. _You and Hermione are over_.

Then why wasn't he still inside snogging Amber?

"Hey," came a voice and Ron looked up to see a boy about his own age walking down the alley toward him.

"Uh, hey," Ron said, feeling rather perturbed. He just wanted to be alone to think and he couldn't even get that.

"You don't have a few extra quid, do you mate?" the boy asked. Ron puzzled over the word. _Quid…quid…what's a quid, and do I have any._ Then he remembered that it was a name for Muggle money; Hermione had taught him that.

"Uh, lemme see." He reached around in his pocket with his good hand, feeling around for anything. Bill had changed their money for them at Gringots earlier in the day and Ron had left most of his share with Bill. Thankfully, his fingers wrapped around a few coins, and Ron began to pull them out, hoping they were quid and not Sickles, when he noticed the muggle had pulled a knife from somewhere and was brandishing it in Ron's direction. Ron froze.

"Nice, and easy," the boy said. "Just turn out your pockets."

Ron wondered if he could get his wand out before the boy could react. His left hand clutched the Muggle coins and his right was swollen and bleeding from having punched the way.

"Well c'mon then, let's have it," the boy said when he saw Ron's hesitation.

In that moment, Ron reacted. He flung the coins in the boy's face and reached for his wand with his other. The boy flinched and Ron knew he had him beat…at least until his swollen right hand couldn't grasp his wand firmly enough to yank it from his pocket.

Ron's eyes grew wide as the Muggle lunged forward, the knife aimed for Ron's gut, when a jet of red light passed over Ron's shoulder and hit his attacker in the chest, knocking him backward where he fell over, stunned. Somehow, Ron had the feeling that his unknown savior was not one of the many wizards he'd come to the Muggle club with and Ron spun, his left hand digging awkwardly for his wand and grasping it tightly.

"That was rather foolish, wouldn't you say?" a completely nondescript woman asked, emerging from the shadows down the alleyway. She was average height, average build, medium length dark hair, and was dressed like a Muggle club-goer. If she hadn't been holding a wand in her hand, Ron would have never guessed she was a witch.

"Wha—"

"First, you come out here alone, without telling anyone. Then you lower your guard and allow this mugger within striking distance. And finally, despite all the disadvantages you've given yourself—your intoxication, your injured hand—you still try and fight rather than surrendering what little Muggle currency you have on you, putting your life in serious risk." She walked past him and scooped up the coins he'd thrown. "You almost threw away your life for eight pounds. I know you don't place much value in yourself, but I promise there are those who think you're worth more than that."

She handed him his money back. "Who are you?"

The woman ignored this. In fact, she seemed to be talking more to herself than to Ron. "Guess we should be thankful you didn't follow Potter into the Aurors after all if these are the types of situations you get yourself into. Though you'd at least know a thing or two about defending yourself if you had, I suppose."

"Hey. I fought Vol…Voldy…I fought Riddle. I fought Death Eaters. I know how to defend myself," said Ron indignantly, completely forgetting the fact that he should be grateful to this woman for her help.

She turned to look at him and met his eyes for the first time. "Then maybe you can do a better job of it next time so I won't have to step in, yeah?"

Ron was about to respond when the woman Disapparated with a pop, leaving Ron alone with his would-be attacker who still lay stunned in the alley.

_Mugged by a Muggle_. He could never tell his father. It would break his heart.

_000  
><em>

_15 September, 1998_

After his encounter, Ron went back inside The Gutter and found that everyone else was prepared to leave. Ron was certainly in agreement—his encounter had completely cleared the last of the alcohol-induced haze from his mind—and he, Audrey, Charlie, and Fleur helped their drunken companions get to their respective homes safely with side-along Apparition.

He didn't tell anyone about his encounter with the mugger or his mysterious savior. They probably wouldn't have believed him anyway, excusing his story as drunken ramblings and forced him to wait for Fleur to bring him back to the Burrow by side-along Apparition. The whole thing also reminded Ron of an encounter two months previous that he also had told no-one about. True, the two women looked nothing alike, but they had both shown up in strange, unexpected places when Ron needed the most help.

After taking Neville home, Ron Apparated himself and Harry back to the Burrow. Ron immediately marched up the stairs to his room where he collapsed on his bed. Rolling over onto his back, he glanced back at the door and was surprised to see that Harry had followed him.

"Too drunk to remember where your room is mate?" Ron's tone was joking, but he was in no mood to deal with anything else, and that included a drunk Harry Potter; it had been a long night and he didn't much feel like stretching it out even further. "You haven't stayed up here since Bill and Fleur moved out, remember?"

Harry took a step further into the room. Ron saw that while his friend's steps were unsteady, his eyes seemed sharp and focused. "Listen Ron, about what Neville said tonight…"

Ron let out a loud sigh. "Forget about it. Didn't know what he was talking about anyway—"

"She wrote me again."

Ron's head snapped up to look at Harry so fast he got whiplash. "What?"

"A couple days after Rita's articles came out."

"And you're just telling me now?"

Harry snorted. "Like you would've wanted to know."

"So why tell me now?" Harry shot him a look, the kind of look that said _since you get up from a table when someone mentions her name because you're clearly not as over her as you're pretending. _"Well, what did she have to say for herself? Did she ask what we were going to do about the Horcrux story? Tell you to ignore all the jabs Rita took at you?"

"More or less." Harry said honestly, shrugging. "Mostly she asked about you, though."

"Oh yeah?" said Ron skeptically.

"Yeah," said Harry, pretending not to notice Ron's tone. "Wanted to know if witches were hanging all over you after Rita's article, asked if any of them had caught your eye." He paused. "She never talks to me about this sort of thing," Harry said, as if that explained it.

"Typical," Ron mumbled to himself.

"Are you sure you have it all straight?" Harry asked, lowering his voice further.

"How d'you mean?

"Maybe you've got it wrong, mate. Maybe it's not how it looks." Ron shot him a look and Harry put his hands up defensively. "I'm just saying. She sent me this letter. And she didn't seem…displeased to see you…when she was here," Harry finished lamely.

Ron rolled over so his back was to Harry. "You told me to remind you not to talk about her with me anymore."

"Ron—"

"Consider yourself reminded," Ron said, closing the discussion. He heard Harry approach the bed but didn't turn and after a moment he heard the sound of retreating footsteps and the door to his bedroom shut.

Feeling that it was finally safe to do so, he rolled back over and found that Harry had left a scrap of parchment on the bedside table. For a moment, he thought it was the letter Hermione had sent Harry, but it turned out to be the Marauder's Map. After the briefest of hesitations he grabbed both it and his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said, tapping the map. He remembered asking Harry about it after Ron caught him looking at it during the Horcrux hunt. Harry, going quite red in the face, had started to explain that checking on Ginny to make sure she was okay helped him breathe easier when Ron cut him off, saying he didn't want to hear any more.

Ron muttered _Lumos _and scanned the map. It only took about four seconds before his eyes located her dot; she wasn't in bed in the dormitory however, but on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. Ron wondered if she could still be working at such an hour on a Saturday night or if she had perhaps fallen asleep there by accident. He'd found her there a time or two over the years, always feeling torn between not wanting to disturb her and sending her up to bed where she'd be more comfortable. And of course he remembered their last night spent at Hogwarts together; the night after the battle when they'd both shared that couch.

As his eyes stared at the dot labeled Hermione, he started to think that just because he and Hermione were finished it didn't mean that he was over her. It'd only been three months, and he had fancied the girl for at least four years before that. And maybe, just maybe, until he really was over her, he'd refrain from getting off with the first pretty girl he finds that'd have him. _That's how I got saddled with Lavender for months and months after all_, Ron thought.

Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy and his thoughts disappeared and Ron drifted off to the most restful sleep he'd had in months, the Marauder's Map having fallen on the pillow beside him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This chapter's title comes from from the song "Someone I Care About" by The Modern Lovers off their album _The Modern_ _Lovers_.


	11. CH10: Oh Well, Okay

**A/N: **We made it to 75+ reviews. Which doesn't sound crazy except we were celebrating 50 reviews just LAST CHAPTER. So you guys rock. Keep it up. Thanks to all my reviewers (**Not Harry, Zlatan25, SomeKindOfMagic12, Fred, Lectura35, Beasley, Laurel, RemusSiriusLover, Ferrari08, celticscorpion**) and superfans (**SilverDoe23, Athenais777, oscarpaz00, Romione4ever, JustAnotherGuy100, Sarden, Athenais777, RyanRow02, ObsessedRHShipper, milan4ever**). Wanna be a superfan? It's easy. Just take 1 minute after every chapter to click that review button and tell me you stopped by.

Speaking of superfans, a huge thanks as always to my beta, **superfan24**. If you find fault with this chapter, yell at her, not me ;-)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: Oh Well, Okay<strong>

_3 May, 1998_

Ron sat there, only half-listening to the conversation going on around him, his mind otherwise occupied by two thoughts, his eyes flickering between the two people who'd put them there in the first place. Well, perhaps 'people' wasn't the best word; Dumbledore was a portrait—and an empty one at that, at least at the moment. Ron wasn't really surprised that the Headmaster had elected to step out while he, Harry and Hermione relayed the story of their past year to Kingsley and McGonagall: from what Harry had said, Dumbledore knew most of it already anyway. The old man deserved to think on other things after decades worrying about Voldemort.

Ron turned his eyes away from the portrait and back to Hermione. She'd practically been taking nonstop for over an hour, retelling the whole thing with only brief interruptions from Harry and Ron who covered the parts involving Ron's absence and their ordeal at Malfoy Manor. If he was sentimental, Ron would've been moved to see how even now, the three of them were still trying their best to protect one-another from the rest of the world. Hermione was truly amazing, handling the bulk of the responsibility. He would've felt guilty about it, but she didn't seem to mind, and Ron was sure he would've constantly left out important details if he'd been the one doing the talking. _And then she'd have to correct me every ten seconds anyway_, he thought amusedly. _Better to just cut out the middle man_.

He glanced quickly at Harry and saw his friend was paying even less attention than himself, and was instead deep in thought. Then Ron noticed that Harry's hand was in his pocket, fiddling with the Elder Wand. He knew Harry's plan to return the wand to its final resting place alongside Dumbledore was the right one, though a small part of him wondered if it wasn't a bit of a waste. Dumbledore had used the thing for a good for fifty years; surely Harry could do the same.

Ron made another failed attempt to pay attention to the conversation but quickly gave up when he noticed Kingsley was talking about dealing with the press. Instead he thought back over how Harry had lied about Ron's leaving, blaming their separation on a gang of Snatchers and making it out like Ron had been desperately trying to find his way back to them until he figured out how to use the Deluminator. Well, that part was mostly true; Ron _had_ been desperate to get back to them.

But he didn't know if he actually felt grateful for what Harry had done. He appreciated his mate's gesture, and he certainly didn't want people thinking of him as a coward, as a traitor too weak to fight the effects of the locket, but hiding the truth only made his feelings of shame at what he'd done burn more terribly in the pit of his stomach. Could he really go the rest of his life pretending to be someone he wasn't to everyone except a handful of people who knew the truth?

He noticed Kingsley was leaving and quickly followed Harry and Hermione out of the office. They were discussing the press conference, which Ron was dead set on avoiding. He couldn't go in front of those people and lie again—or rather listen to Harry lie for him—and be called a hero when he didn't deserve it. Nor could he tell the truth for the first time to a group of strangers. Besides, Ron had other things to take care of.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." The lie burst forth easily from his lips. "What? Both of you've had the pleasure and I reckon I reek worse than Hagrid in July."

"You're not coming with us?" asked Harry.

"Actually would you mind not…mentioning me? During the interview?" If he didn't have the courage to face those vultures, he certainly didn't deserve any of the credit either.

The pair exchanged a look, then Harry fixed his eyes on Ron's and he did his best to meet his gaze. After a moment Harry shrugged, apparently satisfied and turned to walk away. Ron wanted to sigh in relief, but instead turned to Hermione, knowing she wasn't as likely to accept his excuse as easily as Harry had. And he wasn't disappointed.

"Ron, why don't you want to talk to the interviewer? It'll probably just be Luna's dad," she asked.

"Like I'd want to talk to that traitorous git," Ron said, hoping his bitterness sounded convincing, channeling his self-loathing into his words.

"Ron," whined Hermione.

"Okay, okay. I just don't think it's a good idea to mention my name."

"Yes, you said that. But why?"

"Well…" Ron's mind raced, using every last bit of his chess intellect to come up with an answer on the spot, "if you give 'em my name, there'll be reporters swarming the Burrow. Especially if they find out you and Harry are staying there too. And the last thing my family needs right now is a bunch of reporters hanging around all the time hoping to get a picture of Harry."

"Oh. That makes sense." Ron felt like he could collapse out of gratitude for her having bought it. "We'll come find you after we're finished, alright?"

He nodded. "Just find me on the map." He didn't know where he would be when their interview was over, but was sure he wouldn't be in Gryffindor tower getting cleaned up. Hermione smiled at him and stood up on her toes to kiss him. A twinge of guilt hit Ron as their lips touched, and Ron was angry that it kept him from enjoying a kiss from Hermione.

_I'll tell her the truth_, he vowed. _Just not right now_.

"Bye," she said sweetly. And then she was gone, running after Harry. He watched her, marveling at the way her body moved with each step: so fluid, so graceful, so damn sexy. He shook his head to clear the thoughts away.

He waited until they were out of sight before heading back to McGonagall's office. He found her standing in a corner looking contemplative and Ron was shocked to see how old and vulnerable she looked, having obviously let her guard down thinking she was alone.

"Err, Professor McGonagall?" Ron said tentatively.

Immediately her mask returned, but not before he caught a look of surprise pass across her face. "Mr. Weasley. I'd thought you left."

"I did, but I came back."

"Yes I can see that. I assume you have a reason for doing so?"

Ron decided to just come out and say it, hoping she'd appreciate his candor. "Uh, yeah. I need a favor actually."

Her lip twitched with the faintest hint of amusement. "A favor? From myself?"

"Yeah. I was wondering…hoping more like…that maybe I could have the locket," he said, motioning toward the desk where it still lay beside the cup and diadem.

"You want it?" Apparently this was not what she'd expected and Ron felt very odd having surprised his usually unshakable professor twice in a matter of minutes.

"Well, it's not dangerous anymore, right? I mean Vo-Vol-Voldemort's soul is gone and everything," Ron said, forcing Voldemort's name from his throat in the hope that doing so would show his resolve and determination.

"As far as I can tell," McGonagall admitted. "I was going to ask Albus what he thought the best course of action in dealing with the remains would be. However…" She looked at Ron. "Might I inquire as to why you want it?"

Ron knew the question was likely to come up and had prepared himself to answer as truthfully as necessary. "After we found it…before we got the sword and had a way to destroy it...we took turns wearing it to keep it safe. It…affected us...me more than the others. I think that's why Harry let me be the one to destroy it. And I just want it as a reminding of what it did to me."

"I'm not sure I understand Mr. Weasley."

"Not too sure I do either," he said honestly.

She thought a moment and walked to the desk. "Well considering it's not actually mine, I don't really have the right to deny your request." After a moment's hesitation, she picked up the broken locket and brought it to him.

Ron accepted it with relief. "Thanks. Thanks Professor."

"It's the least I can do for you after everything you three have done."

Ron smiled. "In that case, I need another favor." She raised an eyebrow menacingly at him and Ron flinched instinctually, but soldiered on. "Is there a fireplace I can use?"

"Planning on going on a little holiday?"

"No, no," Ron hastened to reassure her. "I just wanted to visit St. Mungo's for a bit."

McGonagall's expression immediately changed to one of concern. "You're not injured are you? Why did you wait so long to be examined?"

"I'm fine Professor, just fine. I just wanted to check on someone."

McGonagall waited for Ron to say who, but as he remained tightlipped on the matter, she spoke. "Very well. The one in my old office should suffice. We've been using it to ferry the injured out of the castle since the battle ended."

"Thanks." Ron turned to leave, but looked back as he approached the door. "Uh, Professor?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake Mr. Weasley! What favor do you need now?"

"No. I uh," he looked at her, his ears red in embarrassment. "I just wanted to thank you for making me prefect fifth year. Don't think I ever said it, so, uh yeah."

Her expression softened. "Professor Dumbledore chose the prefects."

"Yeah but you're the one who suggested me, right?" Ron said, knowing his words to be the truth.

"I did, though I don't know how you came by such information."

For some reason, Ron didn't want to tell her he'd asked Dumbledore himself about it. "Right, well, just wanted to…it really meant a lot."

"I barely did anything, Mr. Weasley. I simply put your name down as a potential candidate the moment you defeated my chess set first year and you more than earned the badge with everything you've done since."

Ron grinned. "Maybe you and I could play sometime?"

"Goodbye Mr. Weasley," she said in dismissal, though he thought she sounded pleased. Still grinning, he left, heading toward her old office, the locket securely snug inside his pocket.

000

"Could you tell me where Lavender Brown's room is at?" Ron asked the Welcome Witch at reception. Without sparing him so much as a glance, she gave him the room number and Ron walked off to the elevator, not bothering to thank her.

He found the door to her room open and poked his head inside. Sitting quietly in a chair was a stunningly pretty woman looking very blonde and very well-endowed, whom Ron guessed was Lavender's mother. And next to the chair, lying in bed with her eyes staring off into space was Lavender. Most of her beautiful face was wrapped in bandages, and what little of her body not hidden beneath the hospital gown and bed sheets was similarly covered to the point that she almost resembled a mummy. He knocked softly, unsure if his presence was wanted. Both women turned to look at him.

"Who're you?" snapped Mrs. Brown, getting out of her chair.

"Uh, Ron Weasley, Ma'am."

Her eyes flashed in recognition at his name and Ron wondered just how much she knew about his former relationship with her daughter. "Are you now? Well what do you want? And why are you bothering my daughter when she clearly needs her rest?"

Apparently she knew enough. Ron gaped like a fish, trying to speak when Lavender did it for him.

"Mum, it's okay," she said quietly. Her mother turned to look at her.

"Okay? After everything this boy put you through last year? After how horribly he treated you? After all those letters you sent home telling me how broken-hearted you were over him? And now you're saying it's okay?" Mrs. Brown's voice continued to rise in pitch as she spoke, growing more and more shrill.

Ron cringed when he heard the bit about the letters home. He'd known Lavender had taken how things ended between them quite hard. It had been one of the reasons he'd been so hesitant to chuck her in the first place even after the initial attraction and excitement of having a girlfriend had waned. "Err…I can leave," Ron offered uncomfortably. Coming here had clearly been a mistake.

"No, don't," said Lavender. "Mum, why don't you go up and find Dad in the tearoom. You haven't eaten anything since you got here."

"But—"

"Please," Lavender implored. Her mother acquiesced reluctantly, though she shot Ron a look of deepest loathing as she passed him on her way out.

"So that's your Mum?" Ron said feebly. "Seems nice."

"She is normally. You'd know that if you'd ever got around to meeting her." The words were harsh, but there was no trace of spite or anger in Lavender's tone.

"Right, sorry about that."

"About what? That you were a shite boyfriend?"

"Well, yeah, that I suppose."

Lavender gave a small shrug. "She'd asked me to bring you over during the Easter hols last year so she could meet you, you know?"

"Yeah?" Ron didn't know what else to say. They were quite for a moment.

"Ron, why are you here?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh, so all it takes to get you to pretend to give a damn is to get attacked by a werewolf, huh? Wish I would've known that while we were dating."

"I gave a damn," Ron said, failing at making it sound convincing; they both knew the truth of Lavender's words.

"Ron, why are you _really_ here?"

It was a good question. Why was he there? Ron wasn't sure himself, though he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Lavender since Hermione mentioned her name earlier that morning out by the lake. "Guess I just wanted to say I was sorry. I never did before an' I probably should've."

"I'm not here to make you feel better about what you did or yourself."

"I wasn't trying to feel better," Ron protested, though he wasn't sure if that was the truth or not. It made him sound like Harry.

"Well I don't really care about all that anymore. It was a long time ago. I'm over it."

"Right. Sorry. Shouldn't have bothered you then. I'll…I'll just go. But I am glad you're okay," he said honestly, turning to the door when Lavender's voice exploded behind him, unleashing the emotion she'd kept out of her words until that point.

"You think _this_ is okay?" Lavender shrieked, holding up her bandaged arms & gesturing to her scarred face. "You think this is something I want to deal with the rest of my life? I wish he'd just killed me. I wish _she'd _just let him kill me." She broke down and began sobbing.

Ron didn't know what to do. He hated when girls cried around him; it made him feel awful, even when he wasn't the cause of the tears. It was the main reason he'd lacked the courage to end things with her himself after his seventeenth birthday. Still, he'd learned to deal with it in Hermione's case, and at the moment he was all Lavender had. And even if he wasn't the cause of these tears, he owed it to her to at least try.

Ron came and sat on the bed and put an arm around Lavender's shoulders. Surprisingly she immediately pressed her face into the crook of his arm and sobbed into his shirt, as Ron did his best to hold her without causing her pain or himself discomfort at the thought of Hermione.

When she'd calmed down a bit, he tried talking to her. "You know my brother Bill was attacked last year, right? By Greyback too. But he's happy. He even got married."

"But already had someone who loved him before that. Someone knew him before his looks changed, knew he'd make a good husband. How will anyone want to take the time to get to know me when I look like this?" Her words were muffled against his chest, but Ron understood.

"Lavender, looks will never be a problem for you. You're beautiful." The words felt strange to say. Ron had complimented Lavender on occasion when they'd gone out—dense as he was, it hadn't been hard to realize he enjoyed Lavender's lavished praises almost as much as the snogs they'd shared, and he'd figured what was good for the goose was good for the gander—but while he'd never really lied to her, he still hadn't really meant any of the things he'd said. But just now, he'd truly meant it. She _was_ beautiful, scars or not. And Ron was pleased to see that she was blushing, really blushing, something he'd never see her do once while they were together. "Besides, you want a bloke who can see past the looks anyway. You deserve a bloke like that. This'll just help you weed out all the bad eggs a little faster."

"You mean like you," Lavender said, sniffing as she pulled away from his embrace.

"Right, like me," Ron said, chuckling.

"You know, I always wondered why you chose _her_." Ron stiffened. He knew this wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Lavender obviously noticed his increased tension. "No, I just mean how you put up with her books and bossiness and bad hair long enough to find out you fancied her."

Ron laughed, for real this time. It was _because _of her books and bossiness and bad hair that he fancied Hermione; it had just taken him a few years to realize it. "Well, she had to put up with me too," he joked.

"So did I."

"Yeah, but you would've dumped me sooner or later anyway. I was pretty lousy as a boyfriend."

Lavender giggled. "The worst."

Ron had always found Lavender's giggling annoying, but this time it sounded nice. Perhaps because it showed it was still possible for her to giggle after what she'd suffered, that she was still Lavender under those scars and wrappings.

"Lavender, I've been friends with Hermione for seven years, and she's probably influenced me to be a better person more than my Mum has. But you were the one who taught me how to be a boyfriend. I'm just sorry I was total rubbish while we were together."

She smiled. "It's a shame you said your brother's married. I do like redheads."

"Well I've got fi—four…" Ron corrected, suddenly remembering Fred. His face collapsed as an uncomfortable silence settled in. "I better go," Ron said, standing and making to leave.

"Thanks for coming," said Lavender, and Ron was pleased that it sounded like she meant it. He gave her a lopsided grin then turned. She called out to him one more time when he was at the door and he looked back. "One last piece of advice Ron, about being a good boyfriend: girls don't like it when the guy just assumes they're going out. They want to be asked."

"Uh, right. Thanks," said Ron with a nod. As he made his way through the corridors of the hospital, he drilled Lavender's last piece of advice into his mind, making sure he wouldn't forget. In fact, he was so preoccupied that he failed to notice a witch and wizard from The Daily Prophet, at the hospital to interview and photograph survivors of the last battle, snap his picture as he left.

000

Ron was still repeating Lavender's last words when out of nowhere the girl he needed to talk to pounced on him.

"Where have you been? I've been checking the map but I couldn't find your name anywhere until just a few minutes ago. I thought maybe you were outside again, but that's where Harry and I were before I came looking for you and that didn't make much sense and—"

"Hermione, breath. M'alright. You found me, see?" Ron said, taking Hermione's hand and touching it to his chest. Immediately he noticed her cheeks go slightly pink and realized such physical intimacy between them wasn't usually so easily arrived at. Immediately, he released his grip on her hand and she withdrew it, taking it in her other and rubbing it as if she'd been burned.

"I thought you were going to get cleaned up."

"I was."

"Then why do you still look like that?"

Ron didn't know what to say. He'd been hoping to get the chance to talk about him and Hermione before he had to explain about him and Lavender. "I didn't have a change of clothes and didn't feel like putting these smelly rags back on after I washed off."

"Oh right. I guess I still have all your clothes," said Hermione looking down at her beaded bag. _Damn, I am getting really good at this thinking on my feet thing_, Ron thought, though honestly he could probably only get away with lying to her like this because she was preoccupied with everything that'd happened the past few days.

"Yeah, well…if you could just toss me something? Sooner I go, the sooner I can get back…" _and you can rip my head off when I tell you about Lavender_, Ron finished in his head.

"Wouldn't you like some company?" Hermione said boldly.

Ron couldn't believe his ears. Surely he'd misunderstood. Or maybe she had. "Uh, you do know I'm going to take a shower right?" he said, and judging by the way she stood there nervously biting her lip, her cheeks bright red, Hermione _did_ understand where she'd be accompanying him to.

"Yes," she said rather shyly, and Ron smiled; she looked amazing when she was embarrassed, almost as amazing as when she was shouting at him, her chest heaving, her cheeks flushed, her hair in disarray... "I just…I just thought you might need some help." Ron quirked one eyebrow at her. "Not like that!" she protested, though Ron noted she didn't sound very sure of her words. "I just meant you probably have lots of cuts that need cleaning—I know I found loads when I showered earlier—and thought I could help."

"Right…" Ron's brain was barely functioning as he was now picturing a sopping, naked Hermione playing nurse for him, doing unspeakable things to him as she _attended _to his _needs_. Fairly sure that steam was coming off his body, Ron shoved _those _thoughts as far back in his mind as they could go. "Well c'mon then," he said and started the walk to Gryffindor Tower. On the way he felt Hermione slip her hand into his and he clutched back instinctively.

As they walked, Ron wondered how to go about telling Hermione about Lavender. Why did he feel so funny in the first place? He hadn't done anything wrong or inappropriate, and it wasn't like he could've invited Hermione along: the two of them showing up together to see Lavender would've been like rubbing her face in the fact that they were together. Even if Lavender really didn't care anymore, he knew from dealing with Hermione and Ginny that girls could hold grudges for a very long time. Besides, Harry had needed Hermione's help.

He looked over at her. Ron may not have been as skilled at reading Hermione's body language as she was at reading his, but he immediately sussed out that something was up. Her nose and forehead were scrunched up in thought and he saw how tightly wound her body was, like she was struggling to keep something inside. And the hand he was holding was uncommonly sweaty, or perhaps that was just his own. Was she suspicious? Did she know? He really wasn't that good a liar. Was she about to explode at him, break things off before they'd even really started?

Perhaps he could start off with what Lavender had advised, make sure she knew how he felt before bringing up the fact that he'd lied about visiting his ex-girlfriend. "Hermione?" Ron said tentatively.

"Hmm?" She said it casually, but Ron could feel the tension in her body through his fingertips.

"I just wanted…to tell you that…fuck this is hard." They'd stopped walking just a few paces from the portrait into the common room and Hermione was now looking at him curiously, which made everything ten times harder. _Just say it_, his mind told him. _Just come out and say it. Even if she chucks you in a minute at least you'll have told her once. _"I fancy you."

It wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say, but it was close enough and Ron felt rather proud of himself. Unfortunately Hermione's reaction was not one he'd hoped for. She looked like she was practically on the verge of crying.

"Ron, I need to tell you something. Now don't get upset…" _Shit!_ How was he not supposed to get upset? Nothing good ever came after the words 'I need to tell you something.' "Something happened while Harry and I were talking to the reporters." _Wait, what? _Ron was lost. What did that have to do with him and the fact that he fancied Hermione? He hadn't even been there. "And your name came up." _Oh, that's how._ "They already knew you were involved," Hermione hurried, seeing Ron's face droop. "It was Rita," Hermione spat with pure venom. "And we had to tell them a bit more than we'd planned because they were trying to make it out like Harry and I were on some honeymoon together for the past year." Ron felt the most fleeting twinges of jealousy with a lingering sense of guilt over the time it had just been the two of them in that tent after he'd walked out. But as Hermione continued to explain the entire fiasco, he felt more and more lost. Did she think he was going to be angry for mentioning him? Sure he'd specifically asked them not to, but if Rita and this other woman already knew the truth, there hadn't been much choice.

"Hermione I don't understand what's the big deal," Ron said when Hermione finally took a breath and gave him a chance to get a word in.

"Well the last thing they asked us was whether Harry and I were single and..and…I told them…I was."

She said this last in a very quiet squeak, her eyes trained on the floor of the corridor. "Oh," said Ron dejectedly. "Is that what you want?"

She raised her head a little, enough to see that she was peaking at him from under her fringe. "Is that what you want?"

God Ron wanted to shout or punch something. Hadn't he just told her that he fancied her? Hadn't he made it clear how much he wanted her, how much he cared, when he'd held her in his arms the night before? And he thought she'd been clear as well, between their snog during the battle and their night on the couch and out by the lake earlier. He hadn't been the one to throw all that into doubt; she had, and he felt the childish urge to tell her 'I asked you first' but somehow managed to swallow those words.

"No," Ron said.

Immediately he saw Hermione's entire being unclench, as if she'd been waiting for that exact word. "Well I don't either," she said honestly, meeting his eyes with her shimmering brown ones.

"You don't?" She shook her head. "Oh. Well, okay," said Ron. Suddenly he was grinning and giddy and then they were both laughing at how ridiculous they'd been about nothing. Finally they calmed down. "So I reckon I'm supposed to kiss you now or something, right?" he said cockily.

Hermione put her hands on her hips, though her sternness was clearly just a show. "You're supposed to buy me presents and fix me dinner and take me to shows and sweep me off my feet…But a kiss would be an alright start I suppose."

Responding immediately, Ron did sweep Hermione off her feet, picking her up bridal style and kissing her quite soundly before carrying her to the Fat Lady's portrait and demanding entrance. He tried carrying her through the passage but this proved impossible, which prompted another bout of laughter from the pair after Ron unceremoniously dumped Hermione to the ground and scrambled through first unmannerly.

Ten minutes later however all laughter had ceased as Ron found himself barefooted and bare-chested in the boy's bathroom, as Hermione cleaned his multitude of cuts and bruises with her soft, delicate hands.

"So…wh-where'd Harry g-go?" Ron stammered, shivering as Hermione's hands roamed his back. He found the sensation of Hermione touching him when he couldn't see her overwhelming and needed something to get the blood rushing back to his head.

"He said he had to talk to Kingsley about something. And I think he was going to take the Elder Wand back to Dumbledore's tomb."

"He said that?"

"No, but he hasn't stopped touching it for hours now. I think he's anxious to get rid of it."

"Right." Well that was that.

Hermione moved around to stand in front of him and began washing his chest and stomach. Each brush of her fingers caused him to tremble and it took all his strength not to gasp aloud. "You lost a lot of weight this year," she said factually as her fingers ran over his pronounced ribs.

"Yeah…" Ron replied, his head tilted toward the ceiling, praying his body wouldn't betray how wonderful it felt to have her touch him like this and cursing the fact that she could act so normal.

"Here, could you look down so I can clean your face?" He looked down and his eyes skimmed past Hermione's face and settled on her chest, which was slightly damp from her ministrations and the spray from the shower.

All his plans of being the perfect gentleman toward Hermione were erased. His only thought was that he was half-naked and alone with a damp Hermione in the boy's shower. It was a fantasy come true. Okay, it wasn't the Quidditch locker room or the prefect's bathroom, but he'd wanked to the thought of getting off with Hermione in practically every corner of the castle at one point or another, and that included the boy's shower.

As her hands ran through his scalp, checking his head for more war wounds, Ron grasped both her forearms and pushed her back against the wall, pinning her there under the spray.

"Ron wha—"

His mouth descended on hers, desperate and hungry, swallowing her question. She didn't seem to mind as she was soon kissing him back, struggling against his grip. He didn't relent, maneuvering instead to hold both her wrists with one hand while his other tilted her chin back, allowing him to bite and suck on her neck, sliding his tongue across her throbbing vein, feeling her heartbeat through his lips.

He came up for air gasping. "Fuck you've got nice tits," he said absentmindedly staring at them.

"Breasts Ron," she scolded, but he wasn't listening as he began to fondle her through her now-soaked shirt, feeling her nipple harden at his touch. She slid one leg up around his waist and he had to press his body flush against her, pinning them both to the wall to keep from falling over in their position.

Distantly he heard someone calling his name, someone that sounded like Harry. Immediately he released his grip on Hermione's arms, but still kept his body pressed against hers, covering her. He glanced at her face and held a finger to his lips in a 'shushing' gesture, which caused her to roll her eyes.

"Ron?" came Harry's voice again from just outside the door. "You in here?"

"Yeah," Ron shouted back, praying Harry wouldn't come in. "What's up?"

"Your Dad says we're leaving."  
>"Alright. I'll be down in ten."<p>

"M'kay. I'm going to look for Hermione. Would you mind telling her if you see her?"

Hermione's hand was clamped over her mouth to suppress her laughter.

"Sure," said Ron, grinning. "Sure Harry. If I see her, I'll let her know."

000

_4 May, 1998_

Ron didn't know when he was going to tell Hermione about visiting Lavender. He'd been completely distracted the day before between their fun in the shower, getting everyone and everything prepared to leave Hogwarts, and settling in at the Burrow. The place had been abandoned since Easter and the Death Eaters that had searched it clearly hadn't bothered to clean up after themselves. And when that was finished, Harry had decided it was time to tell Ron's Dad the whole story of the Horcruxes. This time, Ron had been the one to tell most of the story, feeling it his duty since it was his father they were telling, and he'd also told his Dad about leaving; lying to him wasn't the same as lying to Kingsley or McGonagall. Thankfully Mr. Weasley hadn't asked for Ron to elaborate so he hadn't been forced to get into the particulars of the whole mess. By the time that was over Ron was exhausted, having gotten almost zero sleep over the past seventy-two hours and marched straight to bed without even attempting to talk to Hermione. Even then he'd had to deal with the ghoul who'd grown quite attached to living in his room.

And now she and Harry were leaving.

"I almost forgot," Ron said out of nowhere, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small vial and handing it to Harry.

Harry took it, looking confused at the swirling contents though he had to know what it was. "When did you…?"

Ron shrugged. "Does it really matter? Didn't know if you'd want it or not, but I figure since you're going to see your parents, now was as good a time as any to let you know I had it." Harry nodded and slipped it into his pocket. "'Weird now thinking about him innit?"

"I asked Kingsley if I could bury him. Said he thought it'd be okay." Ron didn't respond. "Are you okay?" Harry asked.

Ron didn't know how to answer that. Harry had told him less than an hour ago that he was going to Godric's Hollow and was asking Hermione to go with him. There was no invitation for him, no explanation as to why Harry didn't want Ron along or why he was taking Ron's, well, _his Hermione_ instead of Ginny. He didn't know how he felt about it as he sat on his bed watching Harry get ready. It wasn't like Harry to hold a grudge. He'd been the first to forgive Ron for leaving, and Ron knew that. Did Harry feel like he didn't need Ron's support, or didn't want it because he hadn't been there last time?

He shrugged and the boys let the subject drop. Ron followed Harry downstairs to say goodbye to Hermione and after he watched them Disapparate, he went off in search of something to take his mind off their absence. He found a distraction in the form of his sister sitting alone in her room.

"Hey," said Ginny once she'd noticed him in her doorway.

"Hey. Mind if I come in?" Ron asked, not bothering to wait for a response as he moved to sit down on Hermione's camp bed, inhaling her scent. After just one night it smelled of her: an intoxicating mixture of fresh peaches and dried ink. "Harry and Hermione just left."

Ginny eyed him and snorted.

"What?"

"You're so obvious."

"What are you on about?"

"Ron, you're about five seconds away from burying your face in her pillow."

He opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. What was the use? She was right and she knew it. "I miss her."

"God, you're disgusting," she said, though she sounded amused. "They'll only be gone a few hours," she told him, as if placating a child.

"Don't you miss Harry?"

"Yes, " said Ginny immediately, sounding much more dignified than Ron's whining. "But I haven't spent every second with him for the past nine months."

Ron wanted to correct her, tell her that he'd spent two months away from Hermione, missing her, wondering if he'd ever see her again, not even daring to hope she'd want to see him if he found his way back to her.

"Don't tell me your jealous of Harry," said Ginny when Ron didn't respond.

"So what if I am?" Ron said indignantly.

Ginny looked shocked that he'd admit it openly. His jealousy had always been rather obvious, but he'd never really spoken of it: not about Krum or McLaggen and certainly not about Harry himself, especially to Ginny. "Merlin Ron, you can't be serious. Everyone knows there's nothing like that between them."

_A certain locket would tell her otherwise_, Ron thought. Not to mention the crowd of reporters from the day before. "I know," Ron said. "But I'm a jealous git, so it doesn't matter. They could be brother and sister like you and me and I'd still be jealous. Hell, I'm jealous of you just because you get to share a room with her."

Ginny laughed. "I'd trade you if I thought we could get away with it. And if you wouldn't murder Harry for what he and I would get up to."

"Oi," shouted Ron, sticking his fingers in his ears. "Don't need to hear that, thank you very much." Ginny threw a pillow at him and he caught it and tossed it back.

Ginny caught it and clutched it to her chest, pulling her knees up as well. "I know what you mean," Ginny said quietly. It took him a moment to figure out what she meant.

Somehow, this admission was even more surprising than Ron's. He'd never really thought of Ginny as jealous. Sure, he'd always know she fancied Harry. People might think him daft, but he hadn't been fooled for a minute when she was dating that idiot Corner or Dean. But he'd never seen her display the same tendencies he did whenever Krum's name was mentioned and he was quite sure she'd never set a flock of canaries on Harry for snogging Cho. "Really?"

"Sure. I actually talked to Hermione about it once in third year. But she told me it wasn't like that." Ron guessed Hermione's admission that she'd snogged Krum had probably played a part in convincing Ginny of that and he fisted the bed sheets to keep himself from finding something to break. "But knowing that didn't really help. She had Harry practically all to herself—_both_ of you, really—and I couldn't help wishing I was in her place sometimes."

Ron had never thought about that. After he'd left for Hogwarts and made friends with Harry and Hermione, he hadn't given much thought to Ginny. They'd been fairly close before, but suddenly she was nothing more than a nuisance, a distraction until he got to see his friends again. Sure he'd tried to look out for her during her first two years, but then he'd gotten busy worrying about Voldemort's return and sorting out his feelings for Hermione. Ginny had just seemed so self-assured, more _whole _than he was, like she didn't need people the way he did.

"I left them…" Ron blurted out of nowhere. "While we were on our mission, Harry and I had a fight and he said some things…we both did…and I left." Ginny looked shocked and confused, but he couldn't stop explaining now that he'd started. "She tried to get me to stay, came chasing after me but I wouldn't listen…I knew it was a mistake even while I did it. By the time I straightened my head out it was too late; I couldn't find them." He went on to explain about how he'd stayed with Bill, how he'd felt like a traitor and a coward and useless until the Deluminator showed him the way back and how he'd pulled Harry from the frozen lake. "I think Harry only forgave me so fast because he felt he owed me for saving him, and because he felt guilty for telling me to leave in the first place….But Hermione…I don't know how I can make it up to her…"

"Ron, why are you tell me all this?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me or pity me or anything," Ron explained hurriedly, remembering his conversation with Lavender. "Really, I'm not. It's just…I know Harry's going to tell you the whole story at some point and I know he'll leave that part out…I just…I just thought I owed you the truth."

There was another part of Ron that wanted to tell Ginny the whole story: the part about Riddle's soul inside the locket, the things it'd whispered to him, the way it'd practically turned him into a different person. If anyone would understand, it'd be Ginny. She'd gone through something quite similar with Riddle's diary after all.

Only she hadn't, not really. Riddle had actually possessed her, controlled her unknowingly. She didn't even remember the things she'd done while under its influence. Ron on the other hand remembered every evil thought he'd had while wearing the Horcrux, every terrible word he's spoken to his friends, every mistake he'd regretfully made. Despite asking McGonagall for the locket—now stashed upstairs in his bureau—he almost wished he could forget everything the way Ginny had. And he realized bringing up that traumatic experience for her wouldn't make either of them feel better, and decided to keep house mouth shut for once.

They were both quiet for a long time before Ginny spoke. "You know I haven't forgiven Harry for leaving me either."

"What?"

Ginny nodded. "I know he had to do it. And I don't blame him, not really. But it was still just one more thing that he wasn't including me in."

Ron agreed with what she'd said. Even if Harry had wanted to bring her along, the fact that she was underage and still had the trace on her would've made it impossible. But that still didn't stop him from calling his best mate an arse.

"Thanks Ron," she said, laughing before growing more serious. "I just…I think it just takes time, time for someone to realize you're not going anywhere." Ron contemplated her words for a few moments until Ginny again broke the silence.

"I miss him." And Ron knew instantly by her voice that she wasn't talking about Harry. He got up and sat next to her on her bed and put his arms around her. They sat there for a long time together, but she never cried. And for that, Ron loved her.

Finally they let go, both feeling a little awkward. "Right. So everyone's over at Auntie Muriel's getting everything together to bring back," said Ron. "Want to go help? Don't feel much like just sitting around here."

Ginny thought a moment. "Actually, why don't we go visit Luna?"

Ron thought back to when he, Harry, and Hermione had visited her house the day after his return and remembered the magical portraits the blonde girl had made. He grinned. "Sure, Gin. Sounds great."

000

It was after dark when he and Ginny got back from the Lovegood's and Ron marched up the stairs toward his room, hoping to avoid getting roped into helping the others move the last of their things back home. It had been a good day. Luna's Dad had acted obscenely gracious and humble toward Ron, clearly remembering his treachery and the fact that Ron had helped his daughter escape her prison. And he and Ginny had been pleasantly surprised to find Neville there as well, which quickly became a great source of amusement to the two Weasleys who teased him about his reasons for visiting Luna until Neville—looking much like a tomato and not at all like the young man who had wielded the Sword of Gryffindor two days earlier—finally stammered that he needed to be getting home and left with a pop and no goodbye.

Teasing Luna had been much less fun since it was almost impossible to make her uncomfortable, though Ron had managed to keep himself occupied wondering if the two of them were really a couple or not, and if so, which of them had made the first move. The whole idea was totally bizarre, but then again, so was the fact that Hermione fancied him, so who was he to judge?

Finally he came to his room, which looked like the entire contents of both Madam Malkin's and Flourish & Blotts had been dumped inside. And in the middle of the mess were Harry and Hermione.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, taken aback.

Both of them looked up. "Ron!" said Hermione, sounding nervous from her seat on the floor. "I didn't know you were home."

"Just got back," he said

"Ginny too?" asked Harry, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah, though I think she's about to head over to Muriel's to help with the last of the moving. Why?" Ron asked suspiciously. "What do you need her for?"

He saw Hermione roll her eyes at him. "No reason," said Harry, standing up from his perch on Ron's bed. "Why don't you take over for me helping Hermione. Think I need a break. You don't mind, do you?" he asked Hermione. Ron missed her response as he kept his eyes on Harry the entire time. He followed his best mate as he walked past him into the hall.

"Ron, where are you going?" asked Hermione

"One sec," Ron called back as he caught Harry on the landing.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"I need to talk to you."

"Ron, if this is about earlier—"

"It's not."

"'Cuz I was with her the whole time. Completely safe."

"I know. But I love her so I worried anyway," said Ron offhandedly, as if he admitted his feelings for Hermione on a daily basis and wasn't saying it aloud for only the second time in his life. Harry however was taken aback and Ron used the moment to explain. "I talked to Ginny while you were gone." Harry's eyes widened. "I didn't tell her much, just about…y'know, me leaving an' all. But you should talk to her soon. She needs to understand."

"Uh, okay."

"And make sure you don't muck it up. 'Cuz if you hurt her again, I'm not going to be able to take your side. Understand."

"Okay, Ron," said Harry, obviously confused but understanding Ron was serious. "You do know you're being a total hypocrite right now, right?" he joked.

Ron shrugged, finally able to relax now that he'd made his point. "Yeah, but Hermione gives as good as she gets. I mean she probably won't even bother waiting around until the next time I screw up to torture me. You on the other hand…I might not be able to kill you, but I can make your life a living hell at least."

Harry chuckled and nodded before turning to leave, but Ron grabbed his arm. "What now?" Harry groaned.

"What you said, about me being a hypocrite—"

"I was only fooling," Harry explained.

"No I know. It's just…promise me you'll always be there for her, especially when I muck things up."

"Ron," Harry started. "How about just making sure that doesn't happen, yeah? I mean it'd be nice if you both stopped causing all of us so much grief all the time."

"I'm serious Harry. No matter what happens, no matter who's to blame."

"Fine, I promise. I'll be there for her no matter what. We sorted?"

"Yeah," said Ron, feeling relieved. "We're sorted."

Harry nodded before descending the stairs once more.

Ron turned back, took a deep breath and headed to his room.

"How was Luna?" Hermione asked as he entered, pointedly avoiding asking him about the conversation he'd just had with Harry.

Ron shrugged. "Still barmy. So, you never told me what you're up to or why my room looks like a disaster area."

"Honestly. How can you tell the difference? It always looks like this." She turned back and surveyed her mess. "I was just sorting through everything we brought on the Horcrux hunt."

"You mean all this was in that little bag of yours?" Ron said, impressed all over again.

She nodded. "Care to help me go through it?"

"Not really," Ron thought, though he sat down on the floor next to her. "Wait!" he said, jumping up again as if his bum had been scolded. He dashed up to the attic, ignoring Hermione's calls for him to explain. "Is it still here?" he asked the ghoul, not expecting any answer besides the banging of a few pipes. He waded through the many boxes, most of them tipped over or crushed during the Death Eaters' search—_don't they know how to use __Homoneum Revealio_, he wondered—until he made his way to a corner where three boxes sat, thankfully untouched.

"Why can't you seem to stay in one place for more than a minute?" It was Hermione, muttering to herself, obviously having followed him up there. "Ron?" she said, more loudly.

"Back here," he called.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked after finally joining him.

"I, uh, saved this for you," he said, motioning toward the boxes. She looked at him, looking both slightly amused and extremely curious. "Go ahead," he told her, nodding. And like a child on Christmas, she quickly tore them open to examine the contents. It only took a few glances for her to realize that they were all her things…well, mostly hers.

"Ron, what is all this?"

"Well…y'know how you had to get rid of everything in your house last summer that connected your parents to the name Granger, or to anything that had to do with you?" She nodded. "And how I came by every day to check on you?"

"I thought you said you were just practicing your Apparition skill?" she said wryly.

"Err, right. That," Ron said. "Anyway, I found these by your rubbish bin and thought I'd rescue them, hold on to them until after we'd finished with everything. Figured you'd want to keep them if you could."

"Ron," Hermione said, her eyes suddenly shining with moisture.

"Please don't cry, Hermione," Ron pleaded. But it was too late. She was throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and crushing him in a tight hug and he could feel her tears on his neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry…I know you don't like it when I…but sometimes you just have to go and be so…so…wonderful."

_Oh. Well that wasn't too bad_, Ron thought, finally returning her hug. "At least you'll have some clean clothes now," he said. She laughed rather wetly. "Look, can we do this somewhere else? Smells foul up here."

She let go and they left the attic, Ron bringing down one of the boxes for Hermione to look through. As she rifled through possessions and memories she'd thought she'd never see again, Ron scoured the contents of his room, looking through which of his clothes might be salvageable after their months on the run and which had been dirtied or damaged beyond repair.

"You didn't…go through these…did you?" Hermione asked.

Ron looked up and saw that she had her arms elbow-deep in the box and her cheeks were quite pink.

"No, but now I wish I had."

"Ron, don't." Hermione said warningly.

"Oh c'mon Hermione, what is it you don't want me to see?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Ronald Weasley."

"Fine," said Ron, giving up much more easily than usual. He'd just realized that Hermione was in a rather good mood and didn't want to spoil it, at least not before he got the chance to explain about Lavender.

He continued picking through the debris, picking up where Harry and Hermione had left off earlier and simply sorting their belongings into three individual clusters and tried to ease into the conversation casually.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Y'know when I went to wash up while you and Harry did that interview with Kingsley yesterday?" He came across a pair of Hermione's knickers and blushed, quickly glancing to make sure Hermione's attention was still focused on the box he'd brought down from the attic.

"Yes," she said stiffly.

"And how I couldn't because I didn't have any clothes to change into?" He tossed the knickers on the top of her pile.

"Are you finally going to tell me what you were really doing?" he heard he say.

"Well I was sort of bored, so I…went and visited someone at St. Mungo's," he said, finally managing to take his eyes off the knickers and returned to scouring the room.

"Is that why I couldn't find you on the Map?"

"Yeah. I used McGonagall's fireplace to Floo over there."

"Who did you go see?" Ron mumbled his reply so that it was intelligible. "Who did you go and see?" repeated Hermione, sounding livid, even though she couldn't have possibly understood his reply.

"Lavender," Ron said again, though his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"You couldn't come and help Harry and I because you wanted to go visit your _ex-girlfriend_ and you're just telling me now!" Hermione shrieked. Good mood or not, Lavender was always a surefire way to upset Hermione.

"I didn't go and visit with her."  
>"Well what would you call it?"<p>

"Okay, so I visited her. But not like the way you make it sound. I didn't go see her so I…so I could…"

"What? Wanted to pay her a bedside visit?" She wasn't calming down.

"Hermione she almost died! _You _were the one who saved her! _I _was just making sure she was alright!"

That shut Hermione up…well it did for about twenty seconds anyway. "That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me, why you _lied_ to me."

"No but _this_," Ron motioned between them, indicating their argument, "does explain it. I knew you'd act like this, which is why I didn't tell you. I didn't want to upset you."

"Right, because you're always so considerate of my feelings Ron."

"As considerate as you are of mine when you're off telling the whole world that you're single when you're supposed to be mine."

They stood there a moment a foot apart, both huffing and puffing at one another before they collided in a tangle of lips and limbs, both of them trying to punish one-another with pleasure as Hermione bit hard on Ron's ear while his hands squeezed her bum rather forcefully. Finally they broke apart.

"All our fights should've ended that way," Ron said gasping for breath and smirking.

"We'd have been worse than you and Lavender," said Hermione, smiling just as widely.

They went back to their sorting, acting as if they hadn't been trying to snog the life out of one another just minutes before. "Hermione, I just…you know nothing happened, right? Nothing would ever happen with her, not after…"

"I know," Hermione said. He looked at her and he could see she was feeling guilty, certainly because she'd exploded over nothing while Ron had managed to keep most of his cool in a similar situation the day before, and that morning when she'd gone off with Harry, and probably partially because she'd gotten upset with Lavender when the girl had done nothing except get herself hurt trying to help Harry. "I just…I just want us to be able to talk about this stuff, not have secrets. It's always gotten in the way with us in the past and I don't want us messing things up now that we've finally got it all sorted."

Ron grunted. He was still rather uncomfortable talking like this to Hermione. He much preferred the snogging part of their relationship to the talking part.

"Ron, I'm serious. This is important," Hermione said, stomping her foot and making herself look absolutely adorable when she had to blow a loose strand of hair out of her face.

"I know," said Ron, doing his best not to laugh knowing it wouldn't be appreciated at the moment. "I want that too, Hermione." They smiled at each other in understanding and went back to work.

A few minutes later he came across a series of strange bright green wrappers stitched together. He thought they might be some kind of sweets and opened one, but only found a strange looking ring inside with some kind of slippery plastic attached.

"Hermione, what're these?"

"Hmm?" She looked up and saw what he was holding and turned the brightest shade of red he'd ever seen: not even the Weasley hair could compare. "It's nothing," she said holding out her hand. "Here I'll take it."

Immediately Ron was suspicious and withdrew the object from her reach. "Well if it's nothing, why can't you tell me? I mean we did just agree not to keep secrets, didn't we?" He expected her to huff at his teasing, but she didn't. Apparently whatever the little buggers were it was something really embarrassing.

"It's a…a…a prophylactic," she told him.

"A pro-a… pro-a… what?" Ron asked, giving up on trying to pronounce the word.

"Pro-fe-lak-tik," Hermione pronounced slowly, still holding her hand out for it.

"Okay," said Ron, not even bothering to attempt repeating it. "What's it do?"

"Oh, Ron please, will you just let it go? Can't you just give it to me?"

"Not after seeing you act like this," he teased. Suddenly he blanched. "It's not a," he swallowed, "_lady _thing, is it?"

"Well…" Hermione looked like she was considering saying it _was _a 'lady thing' knowing he would immediately drop the issue, but he could tell from her tone that she'd be lying.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, Hermione what's it really?"

"It's a…a…oh for heaven's sake…a condom!"

Ron had heard of condoms, though he'd never seen one before. It was one of the few Muggle inventions wizards had taken to. While there was a contraceptive potion, it was tricky to brew correctly, expensive to purchase already-made and, most importantly, needed to be taken by the man once a week. And considering how forgetful most men are, condoms were usually easier to remember.

Ron's head spun. "It's not…I mean Harry isn't…he hasn't with Ginny…has he?"

Hermione had buried her face in her hands after shouting out that it was a condom but now she looked up, though she refused to meet Ron's gaze. "No it's not Harry's," she admitted, sounding very much like she would like to blame this mess on her friend if she didn't think Ron might kill Harry for thinking it was Harry's condom.

"So if it's not Harry's…" Ron's gears were still turning, sorting it all out, "that means…it's…"

"Mine, yes. Okay Ron, I admitted it. Are you happy?"

Ron was suddenly furious. "You told me you didn't, you hadn't…you said you only kissed Krum a couple of times."

Hermione was surprised by Ron's anger, her embarrassment forgotten. "I did."

"You mean," Ron's heart suddenly stopped and his eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, "with _McLaggen_?"

Hermione smacked Ron on the shoulder. "What! Of course not! How could you think I'd sleep with that oaf?"

Ron's heart started beating again. "But I don't get it. Why do you have them if you never…"

Hermione's face turned red again. "Why do you think Ron? God?" Without waiting for him to figure it out, Hermione stormed out of the room.

It only took Ron's brain another ten seconds to realize that Hermione had brought the condoms on the Horcrux hunt as a precaution in case the two of _them_ had gotten caught up during a row much as they had a short while earlier and things got out of hand, but it took almost an hour before he fully registered the fact that Hermione Granger wanted to have sex. With him!

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><p><strong>AN: **The chapter's title comes from the song "Oh Well, Okay" by Elliott Smith off his album _XO_.


	12. CH11: Say You Miss Me

**A/N: **It kind of occurred to me that I've been thanking all my reviewers (love you guys), but haven't even mentioned all my readers. Of course reviews are awesome, while they and hit count help feed my starving ego, it means a lot that people get something out of my story, even if I'll never know. So thanks to everyone who's still reading this fic and to those who have put it on alert or their favorites list.

And as always, a big thank you to my beta **superfan24**. She actually threw a bit of a hissy fit over this chapter (her words, not mine) and made me change a bunch of stuff, which has NOT happened before, cuz, you know, I'm usually so perfect. I'm definitely glad she did though as this version is much better. So hopefully you guys like the end result as well.

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: Say You Miss Me<strong>

_26 October, 1998_

Hermione was excited. Her first two months at Hogwarts hadn't quite turned out as she'd expected. While she and Ginny hadn't gotten into any more rows since the day of Gryffindor's Quidditch trials, they hadn't exactly made up either. Careful of putting her foot any deeper into her mouth than it already was, Hermione was very careful when she talked to Ginny and avoided any issues that could be considered sensitive or annoying: this included Quidditch, Ron, Harry, the rest of the Weasleys, and classes, which left the girls with almost nothing to talk about—something Ginny didn't seem too troubled over. Hermione had heard Ginny defending her to other students, telling them that Rita's article had been full of rubbish, but when Hermione tried to thank her for it, Ginny had merely shrugged and said she didn't like Rita any more than Hermione did and refused to let her get away with spouting such lies about her friends. And though Hermione had warmed at still being counted as one of Ginny's 'friends' the words rang a bit hollow to her ears.

For his part, Dean was rarely around to spend time with either. When he wasn't discussing Quidditch tactics with Ginny—a subject Hermione couldn't bear to talk about when Harry or Ron weren't involved—he was off spending time alone with Luna. They'd obviously grown quite close during the time they'd spent together at Shell Cottage and he'd apparently grown accustomed to Luna's eccentricities.

And she certainly wasn't making friends with the rest of the students. Between her irritability and the absence of Ron and Harry to curb her natural inclinations, she was turning out to be the strictest Head Girl in recent memory.

To make things worse, Professor Slughorn had started up the Slug Club once more, and with Harry gone he was treating Hermione like his crown jewel, fawning over her as much as he once had on Harry. She was once more top of the class in Potions—along with all her other subjects save Defense Against the Dark Arts where she simply couldn't bother to make the effort—and he praised her constantly for her help in defeating Riddle and his Horcruxes, always careful to point out that he'd recognized her potential for greatness the moment he'd arrived at Hogwarts. Normally Hermione loved hearing such praises from a Hogwarts professor, but she was afraid the attention would only lend credence to Rita' accusations leveled at her and Harry. And she had the impression the other members were beginning to resent her for it, which bothered her far more than she would've liked without the comfort of Ron's and Harry's friendships to fall back on for reassurance.

But today none of that mattered now. Today was a Hogsmeade visit. Today, she would get to see Harry for the first time in nearly two months and get to hear about Auror training. And most importantly, today she would get to see Ron. Or at least she hoped she would.

Immediately after reading Rita's article on Ron, she'd completely forgotten about the mess with the Horcruxes; there wasn't much she could do from Hogwarts to rectify that problem, and she trusted Kingsley would know how to handle things. Instead she'd spent the entire day agonizing over the fact that half the female population at Hogwarts was suddenly talking about how they'd always thought Ron Weasley was a complete dish. Girls would constantly come up to Ginny asking if she could set them up with her brother and Hermione couldn't remember how many photos she'd found tacked up in the girls' dormitories featuring Ron looking sweaty, tousled and triumphant as he hoisted the Quidditch Cup after their victory sixth year. She'd confiscated all that she could find but they'd been quickly replaced and not even the threat of docking house points had managed to keep them from damaging school property by using Permanent Sticking Charms to make sure the photos weren't going anywhere.

It was like fifty Lavender Brown's had suddenly appeared from nowhere and there was nothing she could do about it. She'd felt like screaming and crying and had done a bit of both behind the privacy of her bed's curtains after casting a Silencing Charm on herself. She'd wanted to write to Ron, but realized that was pointless; a letter wasn't going to stop girls from suddenly fancying him, nor could she demand him to ignore their attention like she so desperately wanted to. Furthermore, it would've made her come off completely desperate and insane, and her dignity was one of the few things she had left.

In the end, she'd waited three days and written to Harry instead. She'd asked him how both he and Ron were getting on with the attention, and questioned him about Auror training and of course inquired about the rest of the Weasleys. She'd done her absolute best to make it sound like she _wasn't _asking about Ron, but she was sure Harry had seen right through her. In fact, she knew he had since his response had mentioned several times that Ron was complaining a great deal about his newfound celebrity status and was most definitely not seeing any of his new groupies—a question she certainly had not come right out and asked.

Since then, she and Harry had exchanged letters once a week; she missed him and he was much easier to talk to than Ron—at least he had been since things between her and Ron had become _complicated_. Typical of Harry, he didn't say much, but it was good to hear from him. He seemed happy studying to be an Auror; he certainly appeared to be taking it more seriously than he had his lessons at Hogwarts, though a part of her wondered if that was because he knew he only had to survive the training for three months before he was fully-qualified.

As for Ron, she'd felt relieved, but guilty, over the little tidbits Harry had included about him in his letters; while a part of her thought he did finally deserve some recognition, she was also happy that he wasn't enjoying the attention as much as she'd feared. But after a week, the chatter still hadn't died down in the girls' toilets and she started to consider the possibility that perhaps Ron was merely biding his time. He'd gotten off with Lavender the first chance he got because he'd thought she was the only one interested. But now that he had _options_, he could just be 'biding his time.'

But then something had happened to change all that. The morning of her birthday Hermione had woken up and been surprised to find a present from Ron waiting among the stack from her parents, Harry, Hagrid, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. It wasn't the most impressive present he'd ever given her (that honor fell to the silver otter-shaped earrings he'd given her just before they left to find the Horcruxes as an early birthday present, a gift she still didn't know how he'd managed to afford) or the most thoughtful (that being a Muggle battery-powered book light he'd gotten from his Dad for her for Christmas fourth year) or the sweetest (the perfume from fifth year). What it _was_, was five Galleons.

It had been like a slap in the face at first; money was what you gave to someone when you didn't know them or couldn't be bothered to find a present, and she felt Ron could at least have gotten her his fallback bag of sweets. But _gold_? It was completely insulting and Hermione had hypocritically vowed never to forgive him for it. That was until she'd gotten around to reading the card he's sent, explaining it was meant to be a donation for S.P.E.W. to help make up for what a lousy treasurer he'd been.

She hadn't thought about S.P.E.W. in ages—in fact, she'd practically given up on it during sixth year—but she'd broken out her badges and knitting needles the very next day and set herself to work with a large smile on her face. She tried analyzing Ron's present for hidden meanings but quickly gave up. In the end, she'd written him a thank you card—one of only two she sent out, the other going to her parents—that she thought sounded appropriately pleased without sounding overly gushing. She tried to encourage him to reply in turn in the hopes that they'd develop a regular correspondence, but she hadn't heard from him since.

Not that that put her out or anything. There were countless explanations for why Ron hadn't written her ranging from he was too busy with the shop and dodging reporters to him simply being Ron, seeing as he'd never been one to pick up a quill when he didn't absolutely have to.

Which was why Hermione was wearing a new jumper, her otter earrings and just a dab of that _awful_ perfume as she stood in front of her mirror debating whether to tie her hair back or leave it down. So what if she felt a little like acting like all those silly girls she despised getting dolled-up to meet a boy; the boy in question was Ron Weasley and he was the one aspect of Hermione's life where she not only permitted but actually enjoyed silliness.

"I'm afraid there's not much hope for it either way dearie," the mirror told her bluntly as she continued to fuss with her uncooperative hair.

"Oh shut up," Hermione told it, sweeping her bushy locks back and tying them into a ponytail before stalking off feeling affronted. She knew Ron preferred it when she wore her hair down, but it was liable to be windy in Hogsmeade and she didn't want to deal with having her hair whipping around her face all day.

She found Ginny, Dean and Luna standing together in the Entrance Hall with the other students waiting to make their way to Hogsmeade, and when Ginny didn't immediately balk at her presence, felt it safe to join them in discussing their plans. Not that she actually did much talking as they followed the other students past Filch and out into the sunshine. Her plans for the day didn't go much beyond imagining the look on Ron's face when he greeted her, possibly complete with his wide smile and maybe, just _maybe_, a kiss hello. She could spend all day watching him stuff his face with chocolate frogs in Honeydukes or bicker with him over whether or not he ought to order Firewhiskey from Aberforth in the Hog's Head, so long as they did it together—though she couldn't help wondering if Ron would balk if she suggested a visit to Madam Puddifoot's.

Ginny mentioned that the boys were supposed to be waiting outside Honeydukes, so they headed that way to find Neville and Harry waiting as promised. Automatically Hermione moved toward Harry but Ginny got there first, leaving Hermione standing around awkwardly wondering where Ron could be. He should've been quite easily spotted between his towering height and his hair, but she failed to catch sight of him in the throng of students.

After embracing Ginny, Harry seemed to notice Hermione's slightly panicked expression as her search met with failure moved to greet her.

"Hermione," he said, opening his arms in expectation of her usually perfunctory hug.

"Hello Harry," Hermione said absentmindedly. She actually moved to brush Harry aside as he was blocking her view when she realized this was supposed to be her best friend and quickly threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him as tightly as she could.

"Easy Hermione," said Harry as he extracted himself from her clutches. "Just because I'm the Boy Who Lived, it doesn't mean I can survive you choking me to death."

"Sorry Harry, I just…" suddenly, the full weight of realization came down on her: Ron was not there. It was as if a Dementor had suddenly appeared in Hogsmeade and Hermione felt her hopes and expectations evaporate from her body like magic as she struggled to hold in her disappointment.

"Ron couldn't come. He…he had some business," Harry told her.

"Ron? Oh no, I wasn't…I wasn't looking for him. I was just making sure those fifth years over there weren't about to start dueling," she said, her voice fading out as she spoke. It was a poor attempt at indifference, but she couldn't muster up the strength for anything better.

"You could let them go Hermione. It's supposed to be your day off as well," said Harry, going along with her obvious lie, for which she was immensely grateful.

After saying hello to Neville and catching up for a moment they agreed to part ways, deciding to meet up later in the Three Broomsticks for drinks. Neville, Luna and Dean had headed off to Dominic Maestro's music shop while Harry and Ginny went to visit Spintwitches to look at sporting goods. Harry had invited Hermione along, even going so far as to promise they wouldn't stay there long and could visit Tomes and Scrolls after, but one look at the expression on Ginny's face made Hermione decline his invitation. She didn't know if the redhead disapproved of her presence that much or if she would've complained about anyone spoiling her alone-time with her boyfriend. Not that Hermione would've gone with them anyway. While she didn't mind being a third-wheel after holding that position for two years after first making friends with Ron and Harry, it was an entirely different matter when the couple consisted of the sister and best friend of the boy you fancied and had expected to see.

So she wandered the village alone, going to Scrivenshaft's for new quills, stopping by the Post Office to send a letter to her parents, and browsed Tomes and Scrolls until she was sure she'd examined every book at least twice. Yet after all that she was still left with an hour to kill before she was supposed to meet everyone at the Three Broomsticks.

She decided to simply stroll through the streets of Hogsmeade, watching the younger students running eagerly from shop to shop. Along the way she saw Dean sitting on a bench looking to be in a rather foul mood and decided to see what was up.

"Oh. Hi Hermione," he said glumly when he finally noticed her presence.

"Everything alright Dean?" she asked, doing her best to sound helpful and not nosy.

"Huh? Oh yeah, m'fine. Fine, fine, fine," he repeated.

"Well, uh, where did Neville and Luna get off to?"

"Not sure," he said looking thoughtful. "They started arguing while we were inside Honeydukes and that was the last time I saw 'em. Decided to slip out so they could have some privacy."

Hermione didn't know how arguing in a shop full of patrons could be considered private, but decided to keep that to herself. She was more surprised to hear that her friends were arguing. Luna, for all her oddness, was probably the least confrontational person she knew and for his part Neville was very easy-going. _What could possibly have caused them to quarrel _she wondered. She glanced back at her fellow Gryffindor. _Could it have anything to do with Dean?_

It wasn't the first time she'd wondered if something was possibly going on between him and Luna. They'd spent a great deal of time together since the start of term, but she couldn't remember either of them ever so much as speaking to one-another before Shell Cottage, not even during D.A. meetings in fifth year. She'd dismissed the idea in the past because she remembered all the gossip about her and Harry being an item when they had only ever been good friends. But then again, there had also been less popular rumors about her and Ron—most courtesy of Parvati and Lavender, and she certainly hadn't thought of _him_ as just a good friend—at least not since second year.

"Well we could go over to the Three Broomsticks early if you want," she offered. "Or we could just walk around the village until it's time to meet up with everyone else. It's really nice out and I was thinking of heading over by the Shrieking Shack. I haven't seen it in ages."

"No, I think I'll just head back to the Castle. 'M'feeling tired all of a sudden. Not really in the mood to grab a drink." He stood up. "I'll see you later Hermione."

Hermione said goodbye and watched Dean make his way down the road back to Hogwarts. Deciding that she wasn't in the mood for sightseeing anymore either, she decided to head to the Three Broomsticks to find a table big enough to fit everyone. Along the way she bumped into Professor Slughorn who reminded her of the dinner party he'd planned for two weeks from Sunday. Thankfully after assuring him that she would be there, Professor Sprout wandered by and distracted him long enough for Hermione to slip away unnoticed.

By this time of day the Three Broomsticks was packed and Hermione took a seat at the bar, forgetting to keep an eye out for any tables that opened up as her mind lingered on thoughts of Ron and Dean as she sipped her butterbeer. She was already on her fourth when Harry and Ginny finally showed up.

"Been here long?" Harry asked her when she wobbled off her stool and followed them to an open table.

"Not really," she said, her speech slurred only slightly.

"Should we wait for the others?" Ginny asked as they took their seats.

"Dean's not coming," said Hermione as she sat down across from the couple. "He said he wasn't feeling well. And I'm guessing Luna and Neville aren't likely to make it either."

"Everything alright?" asked Harry concernedly.

"I'm not really sure," said Hermione, her brow furrowed.

"Did Dean say something?" asked Ginny. She'd obviously noticed something as well.

"Dean?" Harry questioned.

"I don't think so," said Hermione, ignoring Harry. "But he didn't seem too happy when I spoke to him."

"What's going on?" Harry tried again.

"You saw him? I mean you talked to him? What did he say?" said Ginny, ignoring Harry as well.

"I'll just go talk to Hagrid then?" said Harry, standing up, deciding if no-one was going to explain, there was no point in listening.

The moment he left, both girls leaned in to whisper conspiratorially.

"He just seemed really down about the situation…whatever it is. Poor Dean."

"Poor Dean? What about poor Neville?"

"Well…I just…I mean, after what happened between you two…I just think it's a shame."

"Almost forgot about that."

"Ginny!"

"What? Like you still think about how you broke Krum's heart every day?"

"I did _not _break his heart," Hermione insisted.

"Well you certainly broke my brother's."

And just like that the spell was broken and the girls returned to silence waiting for Harry to rejoin them. Hermione didn't particularly enjoy gossip, especially when it was about people she considered her friends, but it had been nice to talk so amiably with Ginny for a few minutes.

Harry returned and Hermione guzzled the rest of her drink as he told them about how Hagrid was trying to find a way to sneak an Erumpent into Britain to use in his lessons. As Harry went on to retell how they'd used an Erumpent horn in their escape from the Lovegood's house, Hermione kept a discreet watch on Ginny. Hermione wondered if she really believed what she'd said about her breaking Ron's heart, and couldn't believe Ginny could turn so hurtful in just a moment's time…or maybe it was just the truth of her words that hurt.

Ginny seemed to be wondering the same thing. Though she spurred Harry on in his story and laughed in the right places, Hermione noticed she had a rather sour expression on her face as if she too was regretting spoiling their friendly conversation earlier. When Harry had finished, Ginny stood saying she was going to get drinks.

"Another butterbeer Hermione?" she asked.

Hermione looked up and Ginny flashed her a quick, but sincere, smile.

"Please," Hermione said, offering her empty mug for Ginny to take back to the bar. The second Ginny was out of earshot, Hermione couldn't restrain herself any longer. She whipped back to face Harry who looked positively startled.

"So what was Ron so busy with that he couldn't come visit Ginny?" Hermione asked, doing a very poor job of keeping the bitterness out of her voice.

"Uh, dunno. He just said he had business."

Hermione wanted to scoff at the notion of Ron saying such a thing. "What do you mean 'business'? You mean with the joke shop?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably. Unless he's decided to flog his chocolate frog card collection or something," he tried jokingly.

"Surely he could spare one day, though. I mean I'm sure the place wouldn't go to pieces in an afternoon's time. He took an entire week off when we were preparing for our court trials after all."

"Hermione, I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know what Ron's doing. I told you what he told me. I've hardly even seen him since I started training."

Harry's words caused Hermione to make a complete one-eighty. "Oh Harry, I'm sorry. I've been terribly rude. I haven't even asked you how it's been going."

Harry smiled. "I always knew this would happen. Once you and Ron got together, you wouldn't have time for me anymore."

Hermione was affronted. "No. That's not it at all. I didn't mean to make it sound like that. Of course we have time for you," Hermione hastened to assure him.

Harry chuckled. "I was joking Hermione."

"Oh," she said, feeling rather embarrassed.

"But I wouldn't mind," he said thoughtfully. "So long as _you_ had time for _each other_."

"Harry…"

"Alright. I'm just saying that you both really need to stop talking to me and start talking to each other. I didn't fancy being an owl sixth year and I don't fancy it anymore now."

Hermione lifted her eyes hopefully. "He asks about me?" She hated herself for saying it, for sounding like that, but she needed to know.

"Not…not really," Harry said, looking bashful. "But I can tell he _wants_ to."

"Why would he think you would know?"

"Ginny," said Harry plainly.

Hermione contemplated this. What was Ginny saying about her? Was she complaining, telling Harry about their fight? Had she told Harry how upset she'd really been over Rita's article?

Harry must've read her expression. "She's not angry at you, you know. Not really, anyway. She's just…"

"Stressed," Hermione finished for him and Harry nodded. It made sense. Ginny was feeling the pressure of her last year. Not only did she need to focus on her duties as Quidditch Captain, but she was now facing the prospect of finding a career outside of her preferred subject—something she hadn't anticipated until very recently—and was scrambling to see what kinds of marks she needed to qualify.

Ginny's behavior was actually very similar to Harry's, now that Hermione thought about it. Their anger was very different than Ron's and she had much more trouble dealing with it when it came out. As she thought about the couple, something struck her, something she should've dealt with a long time ago, something just as important as fixing things with Ron. "Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively. "You're not still upset that I stayed away for so long are you? Because I'd understand if you were. I didn't want to. I just thought it was…"

"For the best." This time it was Harry that finished her sentence. She nodded. "Hermione, I'm just happy you decided to come back."

Hermione could feel the prick of tears in her eyes. "Oh Harry," she said, beginning to rise from her chair in order to hug him.

Harry threw his hands up and motioned her to sick back down. "Easy, Hermione. You're embarrassing me." They both laughed and Hermione quickly wiped her eyes, thankful that at least one of her friendships hadn't changed. Harry turned more serious. "I don't really understand why you stayed away for so long. We…we were starting to think you weren't coming back."

"It was stupid," Hermione explained hurriedly. "I thought I _was_ supposed to stay. I sort of believed I owed it to my parents, and myself…" She stopped. Could she tell Harry? Would he understand if she told him everything?

Harry shook his head. "I didn't mean you had to explain it to me. I know what it's like to think you have to do something, to feel like you don't have a choice."

_Of course he would know_, she thought. _This is Harry. He's been carrying the burden of others since the moment he found out the truth about his parents._ "Since when did you become the one who helped me with my problems?" Hermione asked.

Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully which Hermione noticed was covered in a small patch of stubble. "Maybe around the time my biggest problem was trying to disarm Neville during dueling practice?" They both laughed. She loved this Harry, missed this Harry who could tell jokes and laugh without fear of dying the next day. It had been so long since they could just sit like this as friends without worry. _And I wasted two whole months of this in Australia_, she remembered sadly: not that she really considered that time wasted, but it seemed like she was discovering more and more how much things had changed in her absence. "But I like to think we've always helped each other Hermione."

She smiled at him, the closest thing she'd ever have to a brother. "Always, Harry."

A moment later Ginny returned and passed around the drinks. Her timing seemed too perfect and Hermione guessed the Ginny had been giving the two of them time to speak alone. "Thank you, Ginny," Hermione said hoping she understood her words didn't just refer to the butterbeer she'd brought her.

Ginny just smiled and took a gulp of butterbeer and Hermione did the same. "So, tell me how badly Neville's been out-dueling you Harry," Hermione said wickedly, watching Ginny smirk at her remark. As she listened to Harry defend his abilities, telling them about the time he managed to hit Neville with a Knee-Reversal Hex—forcing him to spend the rest of the day tripping over himself—Hermione couldn't help but admit the day hadn't turned out so bad after all as she listened to Ginny snort with laughter.

_23 November, 1998_

The next month passed much more smoothly than the first two; though Hermione had been disappointed by Ron's failure to turn up in Hogsmeade, her renewed dedication to S.P.E.W. kept her both busy and happy. And since Professor Reverent was still technically an active Auror, he was called away from teaching a number of times whenever one of the remaining Death Eaters was sighted. To Hermione's delight, this meant Professor Blake had to step in as a substitute and unsurprisingly she found him a much better substitute for the subject than when Snape had filled in for Professor Lupin in third year, and was pleased that his presence meant they actually managed to discuss the subject rather than Professor Reverent's defeat of the Japanese wizard Lu Saito in the dueling finals three years ago. And the gossip from Rita's article had died down to the point that she only heard girls prattling on about Ron's hair or Ron's muscles once or twice a week in the loo rather than every day. But best of all, Ginny was acting much friendlier toward her after seeing how disappointed she'd been over not getting a chance to spend time with Ron.

_It wasn't like he'd promised me he'd show up_, Hermione reminded herself as her thoughts once more turned to Ron. _It's not like we'd made plans ahead of time. It wasn't a date or anything. He really could have been busy with work_. She'd considered writing him several times, but always found herself at a loss as to where to start. If she'd found it difficult to talk to him face to face before term started, it was nothing compared to trying to pour the secrets of her heart out to a blank piece of parchment—at least not without coming off as a total loon or a heartless bitch. _If I could just talk to him in person_, she reasoned. _Maybe over Christmas…Or maybe I could invite him to Professor Slughorn's party, have a redo of sixth year…_

Yes, the Potion's Master was once again planning on throwing a Christmas Party and Hermione was positively dreading it. While she was certain it would be more exciting than his usual dinner parties as Slughorn was bound to invite a plethora of interesting witches and wizards, she was also supposed to bring a date. And while she certainly didn't want to show up alone, Hermione absolutely refused to consider bringing anyone that wasn't Ron, even as a friend. _That _was a mistake she'd fallen prey to one time too many already.

But the party was still weeks away. Today was the first Quidditch Match of the season and Hermione was doing her best to muster up excitement to support Ginny. Hermione knew her friend was still down about having to play Seeker, but she hoped Ginny might be able to forget about those concerns if they managed to beat Slytherin; considering that she'd heard Jimmy and Demelza moaning over Ginny's rigorous training schedule more often than she'd ever heard Ron or Harry complain about Oliver or Angelina, Hermione believed they had an excellent chance.

After donning a red and gold barrette and matching scarf and mittens, she made her way down to the pitch to find a good spot in the crowd, wondering if she should sit with either Dean or Luna; the two had been on the outs since the visit to Hogsmeade and Hermione and Ginny were more sure than ever that there was a problem, and it was unlikely the issue would be solved without a fuss.

As she scanned the crowd already waiting for the start of the match, the sea of scarlet-clad Gryffindor supporters kept her from noticing the cluster of red heads until she noticed a group of fourth year girls pointing and giggling to one-another. She looked to see what had them in such a tizzy and her gaze met a set of piercing blue eyes that sent a shiver down to her toes.

She made her way through the throng, her chest pounding like mad. _He's here. He's really here_, she thought. Finally the rest of the Weasleys noticed her and she opened her mouth to say hello, but her heart caught in her throat.

"Hello Hermione," said Mr. Weasley jovially, not noticing that she was in a state of near-panic. "Care to join us? We were hoping we'd bump into you before the match started."

Hermione nodded, and took the only seat that made sense: next to Ron who held Teddy on his lap.

"How are you dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "Looking a bit peaky. Sure you're eating enough?"

Hermione smiled and nodded. While Mrs. Weasley's voice lacked much of its old concerned enthusiasm, just hearing the familiar words was comforting and helped her feel at-ease.

"Hello Ron," she said, careful to restrain the excitement that was threating to burst out of her.

"'Lo," Ron returned. It was all they said to each other before the match started as Percy immediately began grilling her about her career prospects, which turned out be a decidedly one-sided conversation as he ran-though the merits of various departments at the Ministry.

As she listened to him ramble on—only the occasional nod of her head necessary in convincing Percy she was paying attention—she couldn't help but watch Ron. Thankfully Audrey managed to quiet her fiancé once the match started, and Hermione felt more relaxed in her stolen glances with everyone's attention on the fourteen students flying around the pitch while trying to ignore the girls whispering behind them.

"What?" Ron asked her quietly, causing Hermione to jump in her seat. Apparently she hadn't been as discreet as she'd thought.

"Nothing," she whispered back, knowing she was blushing furiously at being caught and hoping Ron thought the cold was to blame for her red cheeks.

"Then why do you keep looking over here?"

"I just…since when does your whole family come to school Quidditch matches? I can't remember your parents ever coming to see you and—uh—your brothers play," she said, tripping herself up when she'd been about to mention the twins.

"Ginny didn't tell you we were coming?"

Hermione chewed her bottom lip. Ginny _hadn't _told her Ron—and the others—were coming. "No, she didn't. I'd have thought she'd mention it to me." Had Ginny worried Hermione might reconsider coming to the game if she'd known Ron would be there? Or had Ginny tried to keep Hermione from putting herself in a state?

_Right. Much better to be caught off-guard and completely unprepared like this_, Hermione thought, making a mental note to have a word with Ginny tonight in their dorm. _Or maybe I can wait until the morning_, she reconsidered, deciding she and Ginny were still in a rather precarious position in regards to their friendship, and a talking-to might go over better after a night of celebrating. Realizing Ron was looking at her seemingly puzzled, Hermione quickly said that she vaguely remembered Ginny mentioning something but she'd probably been too wrapped up in studying and forgotten.

That explanation seemed to be enough for Ron, who grinned at her. "Of course you did," he said teasingly. Hermione acted affronted, but was secretly pleased. "I reckon Mum and Dad finally realized that after this year the whole lot of us are done with Hogwarts for good. Probably wanted their last look at the place to have some good memories, rather than remember the last battle where Fred…" his voice trailed off and Hermione noticed the twitch of a frown on his face for just a moment. "I mean, about the only times they've been here in the last ten years is when one of us has been poisoned or taken into the Chamber of Secrets or just witnessed the return of the most evil wizard in history."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief as Ron moved away from the subject of his dead brother with a joke and tried to focus on the match. Gryffindor was doing well, but were only up by twenty-points. She looked to Ginny who was circling the pitch, increasing or decreasing her altitude with each pass in search of the snitch, the Slytherin Seeker following close behind having decided to tail her rather than look for the snitch himself.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, immediately regretting her words; thought it was a perfectly logical question considering Harry's love for both Quidditch and Ginny and the fact that Ron was holding Teddy in his arms, she knew Ron was likely to be put out over her expressing concern for Harry, as if it meant she wasn't happy just to see him.

"Bloody git couldn't get out of training to come. Oh sure he acted all put-out about it, but it didn't stop him from saddling me with this manky turnip," Ron said, his tone surprisingly free of derision as he hoisted Teddy for emphasis. "Insisted I had to bring him 'cuz 'Ginny would want to see him.' but I notice he doesn't bother to take him along when he wants to spend some alone-time with my sister. Ruddy, sodding tosser," Ron mumbled, clearly displeased with how things had played out. For her part, Hermione couldn't help but crack a smile; for all his complaining, Ron was paying Teddy almost as much attention as the match—which, seeing as it was _Ron_, said quite a lot.

"Well you have to remember they haven't really had that much time together, between the three of us going off last year and Ginny back in school."

"Whatever," Ron said, as if he refused to accept her facts. For a moment Hermione watched Ron watch…well she wasn't sure what he was watching; it certainly wasn't the Quaffle and he didn't seem to be watching Ginny either. If she had to guess, she'd say he was looking for the Snitch as she could hear him muttering quietly to himself, repeating the words "Where are you?" under his breath over and over.

"Do you miss it?" she asked him.

"Quidditch?" Ron asked, not taking his eyes from the pitch, and missing Hermione's nod. "Sort of. I mean o' course I miss playing, being out there, flying through the air. Nothing like it. But," he frowned a bit, "I can't say I miss the pressure. I enjoy being able to keep my breakfast down every morning."

Hermione laughed. He still looked and sounded so much like a boy, especially when he got that spark in his eye as he talked about Quidditch excitedly. It was hard to reconcile with the man he'd become sitting there with a child on his lap.

"Andromeda was okay with you taking him for the day?" Hermione asked as she watched Teddy stick on of his fingers up Ron's nose. After all, the little bugger was only seven months old and it was quite blustery out.

"Hey. Stop that," Ron told Teddy, grabbing the child's wrist delicately and moving it away from his face. He then turned to Hermione. "Think I can't look after a baby for a couple hours?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know that's not what I—"

"Sure as bloody hell sounded like that's what you meant. I'm not a kid anymore Hermione."

"I never said you—"

"Then stop treating me like one. Not all of us get to put off responsibility and hide out at school…"

"That's not—"

"…or Australia," Ron finished nastily.

"You stop that right now Ron Weasley!" Hermione suddenly found herself on her feet shouting down at Ron and a now-crying Teddy, the eyes of everyone in their section turned in her direction, momentarily forgetting the match.

Ron didn't seem to be surprised in the slightest by her outburst; in fact, she thought she saw something like a look of satisfaction quickly flicker across his face. But then it was gone and he was telling her to sit down while shooing away Mrs. Weasley's offers to help him with Teddy.

Hermione looked around at the crowd that seemed to be whispering about her and Ron

"Can't they keep their baby quiet?" she heard someone mutter.

"This is why kids their age shouldn't be allowed to get pregnant. Cast a Chastity Charm on 'em 'til they're twenty-five I say," someone else answered and Hermione sat down, feeling mortified. She wrung her hands nervously, unsure what she should do next. Should she apologize? She felt awful about embarrassing the Weasleys and drawing attention to them when Mrs. Weasley so rarely left the house. And poor Teddy was still crying. On the other hand, Ron was being a complete arse and didn't feel like apologizing to him in the slightest.

Thankfully, she only had to endure another three minutes of awkwardness before Ginny caught the snitch, ending the match with the score 290-110 in Gryffindor's favor, sending the crowd in a roar of celebration and her outburst was promptly forgotten. The Weasleys began making their way toward the locker rooms to congratulate Ginny and Hermione followed them at a distance. Ron had finally relinquished Teddy to Mrs. Weasley who managed to quiet him in a matter of seconds.

They stood outside the locker room waiting for Ginny to change. Percy, Mr. Weasley and Audrey were discussing the match—a rather entertaining display since they clearly had as poor a grasp of Quidditch as Hermione did—while Mrs. Weasley rocked Teddy to sleep in her arms. For their parts Ron and George were silently sulking: Ron obviously sore over their quarrel, George simply because he begrudged having to endure sunlight now that the match was over. Finally Ginny emerged and her family crowded around, pulling her into a series of hugs and offering their praise. Even George gave her a playful shove.

"So?" Ginny asked when she finally came to Ron.

"Well they Falcons definitely sent someone. And I'm positive I saw one from the Wimbourne Wasps, and another from the Appleby Arrows. And I think I might've recognized Devin Bannister from the Ballycastle Bats. But I'm not sure. He had half his face bandaged. If it was him, he must not be fully recovered from that bludger hit last month," he said, managing to momentarily forget his sour mood. Hermione had no clue what Ron was on about, but apparently the news came as a disappointment to Ginny who looked somewhat crestfallen. "Hey, chin up Gin. You kicked some serious Slytherin arse out there today, though I think I missed your catch."

"You think?" Ginny asked amusedly.

"Yeah well, he was fussy," Ron said, pointing a thumb at Teddy and Hermione felt relieved he hadn't blame her; Ginny didn't need another reason to get upset with Hermione again.

"He's getting big, isn't he?" she said, brushing her hand across Teddy's forehead, careful not to wake him.

"Don't worry. I'm still planning to tell Harry it was brilliant. Better than anything he could do."

"Really appreciate it," said Ginny, grinning.

Ron shrugged. "Even if it wasn't the truth, I'd still say it. Needs to know you can't beat a Weasley."

"Right," she said laughing. "Are you all staying? Because I should probably be…"

"No, no," said Mr. Weasley, catching Ginny look longingly up toward the castle. "We need to be off. You go and celebrate." Ginny hugged her father again, and then waved goodbye to the rest before heading off to follow the last of the stragglers back inside. "Right then," said Mr. Weasley finally taking his eyes off his daughter's disappearing shape. "We'll still see you at dinner later?" Hermione didn't know who Mr. Weasley was talking to until she saw Ron nodding. "Well, it was good seeing you, Hermione."

"Make sure you don't work yourself too hard, dear," said Mrs. Weasley as farewell, her arms full of a sleeping Teddy. Hermione shook Percy's hand and got a brief but surprising hug from Audrey as they headed off toward Hogsmeade.

"You're sticking around?" she asked Ron

"Sharp as ever," he said wryly. "I've got some business to take care of."

Hermione was surprised. "This wouldn't be the same kind of business that kept you from visiting your sister in Hogsmeade last month would it?"

Ron looked at her but didn't answer. He started walking toward the Black Lake and Hermione found herself falling into step beside him. Finally he spoke up. "Don't you want to go up and join the party?"

"Not really. Having the Head Girl around would probably make them all feel like they couldn't relax." With Ron there, it didn't matter how much she wanted to run to the Gryffindor common room to make sure no-one got up to too much trouble; they could be having a drunken orgy up there for all she cared at the moment.

"You could, y'know, actually try and have fun yourself," Ron offered.

Hermione scoffed sarcastically, but her face betrayed her true feelings. "This year hasn't been much fun," she admitted. "Reminds me of first year before Halloween. Or third year after Christmas."

"Shame that," Ron said mournfully, looking out over the lake as they walked along the shore. "I know how much you love this place."

_Not as much as I love you_, Hermione thought longingly. _Should I tell him? Nothing's stopping me. And what could it hurt, really? Even if he doesn't say it back, I want to tell him. He said it to me and I never said it back and he's still okay._

_If you call being heartbroken okay_, she thought morosely, remembering Ginny's words a month ago. But she knew all about heartbreak, had experienced it over and over again at the hands—and words—of this very boy. And she knew the worst part was how it hurt so much you were sure it would kill you, but you knew dying from a broken heart was impossible.

_Just tell him. It can only help. He might not even be angry anymore it was so long ago. _Just as she was trying to screw up the courage to tell Ron, he spoke up.

"It is," said Ron.

"Excuse me? What's it? It is what?" she asked, totally lost.

"My business. It's the same as what I had to do last month so I couldn't come visit _my sister_." He shot Hermione a smirk as he said that part, making her blush.

"Well if you had to come to Hogwarts for the shop, couldn't you have timed it to coincide with the Hogsmeade visit? I mean since you had to come here anyway."

"Wasn't ready yet. I had to sort some things out first." Hermione fixed him with a look that demanded he stop being coy and just explain already and Ron relented. "I'm buying Zonko's."

"Really?" Hermione asked totally shocked.

"Well Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is buying it. I know George and…Fred…had talked about it a lot, before things mothballed when the war heated up and all. But I know they would've done it if everything with the war hadn't happened. And George isn't getting any better, so I hoped…I'm hoping that maybe…"

"That maybe it'll get him excited enough to come back to the shop?" she finished for him.

Ron nodded. "That, or get him upset at me for doing it without him. Either one'd be better'n how he is now."

Hermione couldn't help but agree. Even if the idea turned out to be a complete disaster it was worth it just to try and kick George out of his self-imposed isolation. And from the way she'd seen Ron running the shop, she was confident opening a second branch wasn't really that much of a risk. "I still don't understand though. If you want to buy Zonko's, why—"

"Bill set up a meeting for me at Gringots so I could ask for a loan."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised again. "I would've thought the shop was doing well enough that you wouldn't need one."

"Well it is. But that's George's money really. It's one thing to spend it on supplies and advertising and stuff, but it's a bit funny using it to buy a shop, especially…"

She waited. "Especially what, Ron?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Please?"

He looked into her eyes, and for a moment she was sure he still loved her just as much as he had before she left. But then he looked away again. "Well if George ever comes back and takes over the shop, I thought…maybe I could…maybe he'd let me run the one here in Hogsmeade."

_Right. Because the joke shop was George's dream. His and Fred's. Ron's doing all this for George and he's worried about what he'll be left with when George comes back and takes charge. _She suddenly felt an irrational surge of anger at George, even though he'd done nothing but grieve the loss of his twin. A wave of sadness and pity soon followed as she remembered Ginny telling her how much Ron seemingly hated working in the joke shop. _He doesn't have his N.E.W.T.s, he turned down Kingsley's offer to join the Aurors; the shop is all he has and he's afraid George is going to take even that away from him one day._

Hermione didn't know what to say. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him George wouldn't do such a thing, to say that even if he did it would be the best thing for Ron if he wasn't happy at the joke shop in the first place. Instead, she asked him how he secured a loan without using the shop for collateral.

"Well you are talking to Ron Weasley. Maybe you've heard of me?"

It amazed her how Ron could go from depressed and moody to joking and lighthearted in a matter of seconds. It must've been a skill he developed from being friends with Harry for so long, needing to cheer up his best mate while still worrying he could die tomorrow. "I think I recall seeing your name in the papers once or twice," Hermione teased, playing along. "Is the lifestyle of the rich and famous everything you always thought it'd be?"

"Well I don't know about rich," said Ron honestly, "but famous ain't so bad."

Hermione's tone immediately turned from one of amusement to bitterness. "Oh I suppose you enjoy all the attention do you? Like having fourteen year-old girls giggling over you?"

"Easy there. I just meant I don't mind the perks like a discount at Quality Quidditch Supplies or people saying hello to me on the street rather than being too busy gawking at my best mate."

Hermione felt bad. "I'm sorry, Ron. I know you didn't mean it like that."

"Forget it," he said, waving dismissively. "I'm sorry too though," he added after a moment.

"_You? _What do you have to be sorry about?"

"Y'know, for earlier, during the match. I knew you didn't mean anything when you asked about Andromeda."

Oh. "I still shouldn't have said it."

"Forget it," Ron repeated. "I was looking for a row and jumped on the chance," he confessed honestly, looking away from her, the tips of his ears just slightly too pink to be normal. Hermione too felt she was coloring at Ron's admission and hid her face from view. Unfortunately, since neither was looking at each other or where they were going, they accidentally bumped into one another and Hermione stumbled before Ron reached out and caught her arm and pulled her back, forcing her to put a hand against his chest to keep from falling into him. She heard herself inhale sharply at the contact, reveling in the firm pressure of his grip on her arm, and she could feel his heart beating beneath her palm as rapidly as her own.

Ron quickly let go. "I thought you were only supposed to be a klutz when you're on a broomstick?" he teased.

Hermione laughed then pretended to look affronted. "I think you were the one who bumped into me."

'Then why were you the one who almost fell over?"

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you outweigh me by seven stones."

It was Ron's turn to pretend to look affronted. "Did you just call me fat?"

They both laughed and continued their walk, continuing to tease one another. It didn't escape Hermione's notice that they were already on their second loop of the lake and she wondered how much time she had left with Ron before he had to leave.

"Did you make that yourself?" Ron asked her.

"What?"

"Your scarf and mittens."

"Oh, yes," she said, a bit embarrassed.

"They're not bad. Don't look anything like bladders," he teased. "Might have to get you to knit all the Weasley jumpers for Christmas this year. Not sure if Mum'll be up to it." Hermione wondered sadly if Mrs. Weasley would ever get over the loss of Fred. She knew she didn't envy the woman's position in the slightest, but she still had six other children, and it was unfair to forget them all for the sake of the one she'd lost. "You might not be as good as Mum, but at least I know you wouldn't give me maroon again."

It was a bit of a backwards compliment, but she'd take it. "I've actually only just picked it up again. I've been trying to sell my knittings to raise gold for S.P.E.W. It was actually your present that got me started again," she confessed, feeling slightly warm.

Ron seemed to brighten a bit at her words, clearly pleased she'd liked his gift and the meaning behind it, whatever it had been. "Oh, yeah? Raking in the Galleons I suppose?"

"Not really," she stammered. "Actually, no one's bought any yet," she said dejectedly.

"What?" Ron asked, totally outraged. "Why not? They're brilliant. I mean what's wrong with them?" he said, grabbing her hand and holding it in front of him to inspect the mitten more closely.

And suddenly it didn't matter that no-one was buying her hats and scarves. Ron's support was worth a thousand Galleons for S.P.E.W. And the fact that he was technically holding her hand didn't bother her in the slightest either, though it did make her blush furiously until Ron finally released her hand and she took it back, half-wishing he'd inspect her scarf next, bringing his face close enough to smell his scent, close enough for her to kiss…

"So Ginny tells me Percy and Audrey are engaged," Hermione said, trying to get her mind off the thought of Ron's lips on hers.

Ron nodded, completely oblivious to the effect he was having on her. "Hard to believe innit? Oh, I almost forgot. Fleur's pregnant."

"What!" Hermione squealed. "And you're just telling me now?" She struck him lightly on the arm, though the gesture was done more out of desire for a bit of physical contact than any displeasure she felt at Ron for holding out on her.

"Well they only told us two weeks ago. Should've realized it when we celebrated Percy's engagement, though. I didn't see her take a sip of alcohol all night. I don't even think Ginny knows yet. I sorta forgot to tell her, and it probably slipped Harry's mind too."

Hermione decided for once not to scold Ron for not telling his sister, and refrained from asking about Percy's engagement party even though—knowing Percy—she was very curious about it. "I bet your Mum's really excited," she said, feeling rather thrilled herself at the idea of a new addition to the Weasley family.

"Yeah the news seemed to cheer her up a bit. Can't believe they only waited a year to get pregnant," Ron said.

Inwardly Hermione agreed. While she liked the idea of children, she understood that a couple's lives changed completely once a baby came into the picture. She didn't know Fleur's plans for the future but she wondered if the blonde woman knew the challenges of trying to balance a career and a family. And she certainly couldn't imagine letting something intrude on her own selfish happiness of having the love of her life all to herself after just a year. Especially if that someone was Ron.

It amazed her, how easy things between them were, how wonderfully familiar and just _right_ everything felt despite the fact that so much was still left unsaid. She wanted this for more than just an afternoon; she wanted this forever, and was determined to get it.

"Ron I miss you," she blurted out suddenly. She'd been thinking it and suddenly the words were sliding off her tongue. It wasn't an 'I love you,' but it didn't make Hermione feel any less vulnerable. "I mean school's not the same at all this term. I was really excited to come back here, at first, but now…"

"I miss you too," Ron said simply, not bothering to qualify the statement. She smiled at him and he smiled back and they just stood there a moment, looking at one another like they were back in sixth year, on the verge of falling into something more, something wonderfully perfect. And then:

"I need to go. I'm supposed to be having someone show me around the premises. Need to get an idea of what kind of shape it's in so I know what kind of offer to make," said Ron, checking his watch and glancing toward the village. Hermione wanted to ask how Ron knew how to appraise the value of a property by just looking around but was proud of herself for managing to bite her tongue. He was Ron Weasley; he could do anything he set his heart to.

_But _that didn't mean she was going to let him leave just like that.

"Ron," she asked as he was starting to leave. He looked back and the moment his eyes found hers, she realized how scared she really was of what she was about to say. "Professor Slughorn's having a Christmas party again this year. And, well, I've been invited and we're meant to bring someone and I was hoping, maybe you'd like to go with me." She said this in a very small, but very clear voice.

Ron didn't say anything for a moment, only looking at her to see if she had any more to say and Hermione realized he was waiting to see if she clarified her statement. But Hermione kept her lips sealed shut. She may not have the courage to tell Ron that she meant it to be a date, but she absolutely refused to say that they could just go _as friends_, the way she'd regretfully done in sixth year. She didn't want to be Ron Weasley's _friend_; that position hadn't been good enough for her for a long time.

"Sure," Ron said. And without waiting for a response, he leaned in and quickly kissed her cheek before dashing off toward Hogsmeade without another word.

Hermione watched him go, her fingers touching her still-tingling cheek, a jubilant smile on her face, thinking she was one step closer to getting back what she'd come so close to losing.

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><p><strong>AN: **The chapter's title comes from the song "Say You Miss Me" by Wilco off their album _Being There_.

I want to thank you guys for sticking with this story for so long. I know I've really dragged out the whole "what actually happened?" thing for a really long time. Thankfully I can say that we're entering phase two of this fic starting with this chapter. The first ten chapters were all about showing how happy Ron and Hermione were before compared to the reality of now. The next ten FINALLY shed some serious light on what went on to make Hermione stay in Australia so long and why Ron didn't go with her and their current relationship shifting once more. One thing I can promise is that next chapter shit's gonna get real.


	13. CH12: All of My Thoughts

**A/N: **Wow. So you guys really went all out on the reviews for the last chapter. So awesome. Want to thank superfans **Athenais777, JustAnotherGuy1000, Not Harry, ObsessedRHShipper, Sarden, RyanRow02, **and **oscarpaz00 **and all the rest of you reviewers: **Grown Up Ron, stochmika, Rosie Weasley, celticscorpion, Hilary, IHovggok, vance McGill, JustYourVoice, Melissa, HawthornBlood141, DearRonWeasley31, onlyjune, Laurel, **and **mellypotter1223. **Keep up the good work and I promise to do the same.

A little extra thanks to **RyanRow02 **for being my 100th reviewer and sticking with this story since the very beginning and giving me some great (though mostly unintentionally ignored, advice right when I was starting out).

And as always, super thanks to my beta **superfan24**. Thankfully she didn't make me rewrite half this chapter.

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><p><strong>Chapter 12: All of My Thoughts<strong>

_24 May, 1998_

All things considered, things between Hermione and her parents were the best they'd been in a long time. Yes, they were both still upset over the way she'd deceived them and used magic to make them forget her, but after she'd sat them down and explained just about everything that had happened with Harry, Riddle, and the Horcruxes since she'd modified their memories last July, her dad seemed to understand that she'd done what she'd thought was for the best at the time. And yesterday her mother had finally stopped asking where she was going every time Hermione went to leave the room, as if she was afraid her daughter was about to disappear again.

And best of all, her parents seemed happy, genuinely happy, not just with having their daughter back, but with each other. They were constantly touching each other, kissing one-another over breakfast, and laughing together over the stupidest things like they were twenty years-old and had just started dating all over again. It was like the last year had been a second honeymoon for them and Hermione was pleased to see them so happy together. But every time she looked at them, she couldn't help but feel a sharp pain in her chest as she was reminded of Ron.

"Sweetheart? Tea's getting cold," came the voice of Caroline Granger.

"Coming Mum," Hermione called back, shaking away thoughts of Ron. She would see him soon and they could sort everything out.

She found her parents in the drawing room and she smiled at them as she took a seat. When her parents' expressions remained serious, she began to feel like this wasn't just another tea on Sunday.

"Is something the matter Daddy?" she asked.

"Hermione, your Mother and I need to talk to you," said Mr. Granger.

Hermione stiffened. For years—since she'd returned from her first year at Hogwarts—she'd noticed a strain between her parents. They'd always appear so loving and cheerful for the first few days of summer or during the Christmas hols, but then things would sour. When she was younger, she'd blamed herself, thinking her constant absence was upsetting them, that the strain of having their only daughter spend ten months of the year in a world they couldn't be a part of and would never fully understand was the source of their pain and difficulties.

But coming home after fourth year, Hermione realized it was more than just the strain of having a witch for a daughter. She'd always assumed their efforts to appear like the perfect family was for her benefit, to ease her guilt for practically abandoning the home she'd had for eleven years for a new one. But that summer, she realized it was more to assuage their own guilt rather than her own. They weren't displeased or saddened by their little Hermione, but each other.

She didn't know how she'd missed the signs for so long or what had finally opened her eyes. The only explanation she could come up with was that by spending the previous summer at the Burrow, she'd gotten a close and personal look at how two people who'd been in love for decades were supposed to act. She'd watched Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and in coming home had found her parents' relationship wanting by comparison.

Suddenly the constant holidays they'd planned had been called into question. In hindsight, everything they did as a family was tinged with falsehood; attempts to give the illusion of togetherness. Her parents didn't feel disconnected from her because of magic; they distanced themselves from their daughter on purpose because she reminded them of what they'd lost, of what had long before broken between them.

Hermione sat on the edge of her seat, waiting for her world to come crashing down.

Her father reached out and took her mum's hand. _That's a good sign right?_ _Or maybe it's just to show the solidarity in their decision. _

"Hermione, we've been talking and, well, I think we're going to stay here," said Mrs. Granger.

"You can't—what?" Hermione had been about to protest her parents' splitting up when her Mum's actual words hit her ears. "What do you mean?"

"We like it here," her Mum explained. "And we sold the old house in London, and the practice. If we moved back we'd have to start all over again. We just don't think it's what we want. We're not exactly spring chickens anymore, your dad and I, and this is as nice a place as any we could find to retire to."

"But we don't mean to pressure you, sweetheart," said Mr. Granger. We know you want to go back and finish school. And you have your friends there too. But if you wanted, we'd love to have you stay with us. You could even finish up at Hogwarts and come back after, maybe find a job here. They've obviously got wizards here; surely they could use someone as brilliant as my daughter."

Hermione smiled. In many ways, her father reminded her of Mr. Weasley; he was completely fascinated with the magical world, but despite his brilliance, never seemed to quite grasp the things he asked Hermione to explain to him.

"You'd…you'd want me to go back to England, after everything I put you through?" Hermione asked.

"Of course we don't _want _you to leave," Mrs. Granger protested worriedly. She'd always been the more reticent parent, worrying over her daughter no matter how capable she might be. Her father on the other hand pushed her to excel, encouraging her to find her own way in life and giving her push after push.

"But you're old enough to make your own decisions," he said, as if confirming her thoughts. "If you're old enough to fight in a war, you're old enough to know what's best for you."

"But if I go back, you'll be so far away."

"Well you can do that disappearing thing now, right? One minute you're in England and 'poof'the next you're here."

Hermione wanted to explain to her Dad it wasn't that simple, that Apparating internationally was not only illegal but dangerous and bordering on impossible to do successfully, but held her tongue. No, she wouldn't be able to Apparate back and forth, but surely she could arrange a Portkey or use the International Floo Network every time she needed to see them. In fact, once she'd finished at Hogwarts, she'd probably have more chances to see them than she'd had in the past seven years.

But was that good enough now? Magic had always seemed like something wondrous, something one could never get enough of and had pulled her back to school and away from her parents at every opportunity, but after seeing how destructively it could be used, she'd lost some of her fascination with it. And now her parents were happy. Could she really bear to leave them when they were like this? Could she really risk the possibility that when she showed up for Christmas the second honeymoon might be over?

"Hermione," her mother said softly, breaking her out of her thoughts. "There's no rush to decide."

They quickly changed the topic to something lighter and Hermione pretended to laugh along as her father shared a joke about the dentist, the golfer and the gopher, but inside she couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen. Beside the fact that everyone they knew here thought their last name was Wilkins, her parents' lives were exactly the same here as they'd been in England, with one major difference; they were happy.

Hermione just didn't know what to do to make sure she felt the same.

_28 May, 1998_

Hermione had fifteen minutes before she was supposed to Apparate to her Mother's office so the two of them could go to lunch together. During her first week in Australia, Hermione had followed either her mum or dad to work every day. She'd had an incessant need to watch them both constantly for any unexpected side-effects from the Memory Charm, waiting to see if something unexpected would happen—well that and she'd simply had nothing better to do and it made her parents happy to have her so close.

But after tea last Sunday, Hermione had stopped going. She couldn't stop thinking about the fact that her parents planned to stay here. And everything with the spells had turned out exactly as Hermione had planned and it didn't look like that was going to change anytime soon so some of her nervousness over side-effects had vanished.

_But it doesn't mean it couldn't, _she reminded herself. _Sooner or later things could change_. Hermione huffed and grabbed her bag; there was no point in always thinking things were bound to change for the worst. She'd gone through a war, half-expecting she might never see her parents again, thinking her best friend might not survive his impossible task, scared that she or Ron might die before getting the chance to be together…

As she turned on the spot to Disapparate, she suddenly realized that she'd been in Australia for two weeks, which meant she and Ron had now officially been apart longer than they'd been together since becoming a couple. She wondered what he was doing, how he and everyone else was getting on at the Burrow, if he missed her…

Hermione Apparated behind a clump of hedges and, after checking to make sure no-one was watching, emerged and walked up to the front door of the Southshore Dental Centre.

"Hi Hermione," said Nathan, flashing his unusually brilliant smile. "Haven't seen you around the last few days."

"Well sitting around a dentist's office isn't exactly the most thrilling way to spend your afternoons, as I'm sure you know," Hermione joked amiably. After telling her parents about the war, the three of them had decided they would tell people that knew them as the Wilkins that Hermione was their niece, visiting them on holiday before she started Uni in autumn since they couldn't very well suddenly tell their coworkers they had a daughter after claiming they were childless for the past year. "How are you Nathan?"

"Can't complain," he admitted with a shrug, and then grinned again. "So your aunt tells me you're thinking about sticking around here for school."

"She talks about me?" she asked, surprised.

"You can't get her to shut up about you when you're not here. You almost get the impressing she actually thinks you're her daughter the way she talks about you. Which is really strange considering I can't remember her mentioning you before you showed up two weeks ago."

"Oh really?" Hermione said nervously. She could understand her mother's excitement to talk about her daughter, since she had forgotten she'd even had one until eleven days ago. But if she let something slip that they couldn't explain Hermione would have to step in and use magic to fix things—a dangerous line of thinking since using _Obliviate _on a Muggle was questionable under any circumstances that didn't directly protect the International Statute of Secrecy. And she was technically only there as a guest of the Australian Ministry who could withdraw their invitation at any time.

Nathan seemed to miss the tone of her question. "Yup. She's always going on and on about how you're a certified genius, telling us how you were top of every class and how you always know the answer to everything."

"She makes me sound like I'm a complete swot and a terrible bore," Hermione said, embarrassed.

"Nah, she's just proud of you. She sees how special you are." There was something in the way he said the words, something that reminded her of… "But," he continued, shrugging again, "it's not like you need to look too carefully to see that."

The door to her mother's office opened slowly and Nathan quickly picked up the telephone and started talking into it like someone was on the other line. Hermione was completely baffled by this action.

"Ready go to sweetheart?" her mum asked. Hermione nodded, adjusting her bag. "We'll be back Nathan," she said, turning toward the young receptionist.

He held his hand over the receiver. "Have a good lunch you two," he said, then quickly went back to his pretend conversation.

"That boy, such a good worker," her mum said and Hermione couldn't help but giggle. At the door she looked back at Nathan and he winked at her as he continued the charade when the telephone rang with a real call and he nearly dropped it in surprise. Hermione let out a laugh and followed her mother.

They drove to a deli a short distance away from the clinic and found themselves a table. They didn't talk much as they ate, but Hermione reveled in just being there with her mother. Growing up, she'd always been closer with her dad from whom she'd inherited her love of books and learning and drive to excel, but she'd come to appreciate contact with other women after having two boys as her best friends, and outside of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione was sorely lacking for female companionship. Last week she and her Mother had stayed up together one night watching old, romantic films and plaiting one-another's hair (something they'd never done when Hermione was little), and finally gotten around to talking about Ron.

Her mother had known for years about her feelings, probably even before she herself knew; since she'd learned to keep quiet about all the dangerous situations she found herself involved in thanks to Harry, there had only been so much she could share in her letters home about her dark-haired best friend. Ron on the other hand she could—and usually did—go on about for ages, complaining about all the stupid things he did and the terribly crass things he said and how much food he could fit in his mouth at a time and especially how much he seemed to delight in annoying her. Of course as time went on those letters venting her frustration had slowly changed in tone; though Ron still infuriated her, it was for entirely different reasons than before. And by the time he'd come and stayed with them for a week the summer before sixth year, there had been no doubt about Hermione's feelings for the red head.

She'd finally told her mother about the Lavender situation—something she'd kept to herself over the Christmas hols sixth year—and the difficulty of being with him without _being with him _all those months as they hunted Riddle's Horcruxes until finally she'd kissed him…mere minutes before his brother died. Of course she didn't go into detail about their bedroom activities, but that didn't stop her mother from asking or Hermione from turning a rather brilliant shade of pink that made any verbal answer unnecessary.

As the two women chatted, Hermione once more turned over the choice she now faced. Australia or the UK? Muggle or magic? Here, she had her parents—in a way she hadn't since she was too young to appreciate it. England had…well, it had everything else.

Hogwarts was back in the UK. She'd been so excited at the thought of returning for her last year with Ron; Ginny would be in their year and share lessons with them, and she guessed Dean would probably be returning as well as the other Muggle-borns from their year. But did she really _need_ to go back? She'd been reading N.E.W.T.-level material since fifth year and had learned magic even beyond that in-preparation for hunting Horcruxes and helping Harry defeat Riddle. And Hogwarts without most of her classmates, without Dumbledore, without Harry…would it really be the same?

_Ron would be there_, she reminded herself and immediately her thoughts filled with images of she and Ron cozying up in a chair in the common room studying for exams together, of patrolling the corridors hand in hand late at night as Head Boy and Girl, of herself cheering him on as he won the Quidditch Cup again, of them sneaking off together like they'd done countless times over the years—only with less noble, but far more pleasurable, motives than finding ways to help Harry defeat Voldemort.

_But would we? _Yes, things with Ron had started out wonderfully after they'd kissed and for a few days things had been perfect. They'd been able to block out the horrible experiences of the war—the locket, the loss of loved ones, the torture she'd experienced at the hands of Bellatrix—and bathe in the knowledge that their feelings for one-another had remained unharmed: if anything, she'd have said their feelings were stronger than ever, since the self-control she'd built up over the years when it came to Ron was suddenly not enough to contain them. She'd certainly _done things _with Ron that would've made her old self scarlet with shame and embarrassment at her wanton behavior. Merlin, she could feel her current-self heating up at the mere memories of her and Ron exploring one-another in ways she'd only been allowed to dream about until very recently, and she had to take a long drink of water to cool off after her Mum told her she was looking a little flushed.

But then she remembered the way he'd stared acting funny a few days before they'd been set to come and find her parents together. She'd noticed the change in him immediately as he became secretive and aloof; she always knew when something was bothering him or when he was keeping something from her. At first, she'd thought it was just the loss of Fred finally hitting him after he'd spent most of that first week suppressing his own pain and sorrow. Then she'd thought it had something to do with his turning down Kingsley's offer. She'd been so happy to hear Ron wasn't going to be spending his life doing something so dangerous and been excited at the prospect of them returning to Hogwarts together in September, but he'd seemed less than content about his decision, like he resented the notion that he was stepping away from the path he'd shared with Harry for the past seven years. But finally the day before she left the truth had come out: he wasn't coming with her.

When she'd first explained to him last July how she'd erased her parents' memories, Ron had held her and promised that when it was all over he would come with her to find them. And their first night at Grimmauld Place, with Ron worrying over his family's safety, she'd confessed how scared she still was for her own and he'd reassured her by renewing his vow to help her restore their memories as they'd fallen asleep holding hands. And even the morning after the battle he'd again promised to be right there with her every step of the way.

So she was confused when he told her she was going to Australia alone. She'd listened to his explanations for why he couldn't go with her and she'd understood. Really, she had, which was why she'd told him she was willing to wait until he was ready no matter how long it took because she wanted him—needed him—with her.

And that was when the whole thing had truly collapsed. She'd found out his explanations were really just excuses, simply lies for him to hide behind. The truth was Ron simply didn't _want_ to come, didn't care enough to help her find her parents.

_That _had hurt. She'd spent years wondering if Ron really cared about her as anything more than someone who did his homework, who helped get him and Harry out of jams, who was the perfect target for his jokes and teasing. But she'd slowly come around on the notion that she wasn't just a walking library with terribly frizzy hair to him, especially when she'd heard him shout that they needed to save the house-elves.

His feelings were suddenly questionable again, when they should've been well past that and she was thrown right back into confusion. She'd spent years trying to reconcile Ron Weasley's words with his actions, trying to figure out his feelings and what she meant to him. But they'd promised to tell each other the truth, always; no more misunderstandings, everything out in the open. Well, almost everything; he still hadn't told her about the locket, but she hadn't exactly been forthcoming about what she'd seen in Hufflepuff's cup either. And he _had_ told her he loved her: not once, but twice. _That_ meant something.

But did actions speak louder than words? If she looked around, would she be greeted by the sight of Ron beside her as he should've been? Did she really know what was waiting for her back in England? If Ron had already started lying to her after two weeks, if he could only express his love in words and not actions, was it really love?

He'd known how important her parents were, how much she'd worried over them, how guilty she'd felt at times. He just _had _to know, the same way she knew how important it was for him to be there for George and his mum and Ginny and everyone else. She'd understood that, and even offered to put her own family aside to stay with him. So why couldn't he do the same for her?

Was she willing to give up what she'd found with her parents for that? Would the two of them even make it without her here to keep an eye on things? Anything could happen after she left again, and she wasn't sure she could live with herself if they fell apart again, knowing that this time it _would _be her fault.

"I'm going to stay here," Hermione said completely out of the blue.

"Are you sure?" her mother asked in barely controlled excitement. They hadn't given her any kind of deadline to make a decision and they certainly hadn't counted on her making one so soon. Hermione certainly hadn't expected to when she agreed to meet her mum for lunch. She nodded hesitantly. "Oh Hermione," her mum said, getting up to move around the table to hug her voraciously. She let herself be embraced, but internally wondered what her dad would think, if he would see it as a failure on her part to finish what she'd started. But she quickly dismissed that idea. She hadn't failed when she'd left Muggle primary school for Hogwarts, so why should the reverse be any different?

"Oh this is exciting. What do you think you'll want to do?"

"Do?" Hermione asked, feeling lost.

"Well I can already tell you're a bit bored. Surely you'll want to find a job or something. Or maybe go back to school?"

Hermione remembered back to what Nathan had mentioned in the office. "Well yes, I think I'd like to get some kind of degree." It felt odd to say so. A few minutes before she'd been contemplating what would happing in a few days' or weeks' time; now she was thinking about committing the next four years of her life to Muggle University. "But next term shouldn't start until August I should think, so maybe I can find a part-time job in the meanwhile," she said, thinking of how depleted her savings were after the Horcrux hunt. As she and her mum discussed her plans, she came across one complication after another and soon realized if she was going to be living the life of a Muggle, she first needed a little more help from some wizards.

_31 May, 1998_

After leaving her Mum at the office, Hermione had gone home and written out everything she needed to take care of as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Thursday had been Arnie's night to check-in. Usually she hurried the somewhat slimy Australian on his way without even opening the front door and giving him the chance to chat her up, but this time she'd been forced to sit down with him as he laid out her plans for the future.

If she was planning on staying in Australia, she needed the Muggle government to think that she'd arrived there by normal legal means, rather than by a Portkey. She'd also need a visa that permitted her to both attend school and find a job. And thanks to her time spent with Mr. Weasley and Kingsley, she knew that wizard governments were more than capable of taking care of such matters. She'd even considered the possibility of asking the Australian Ministry to use Memory Charms so that her parents could go by their real names and she could stop pretending to be their niece, but decided she was already causing them enough trouble and didn't want to seem ungracious. Though she'd sorely wished she could've passed along her request to Gibbons instead, Arnie had assured her that he would take care of everything as soon as possible.

And, since she was to be staying, Hermione's parents decided that they needed to make accommodations for a long-term house guest. Her mum had already taken her out shopping for clothes twice after seeing the state of what little attire she had brought with her from England, but then they'd both taken the day off on Saturday to help her pick out furniture for her new room—not that she'd needed much in the end: just a bed, a bureau, a bedside table, and a bookcase. The last of course had been somewhat upsetting; all of her Muggle books that she hadn't allowed to be consumed into her parents' library were still in storage in the attic of the Burrow, and all she had to stock her new shelves with were her magic books—something she'd have no use for in the foreseeable future.

She'd actually put her wand away before she went to bed Friday. It had been difficult; while she felt utterly safe, she'd only been reunited with her own wand a short time after thinking it lost forever at Malfoy Manor. But if she was going to pretend to be a Muggle, she was determined to do things right, and she figured continuing to use magic would only be a constant and painful reminder of what she was leaving behind.

Now, the only thing left to do was wait to hear back from Arnie and Gibbons.

After washing and getting dressed, she came downstairs, excited to see what her parents had planned for the day. Since she was staying, they'd decided it was important for her to get a feel for the city, especially from a Muggle point-of-view, and had promised to show her around town a bit and Hermione had agreed after getting her Mum to promise the excursion wouldn't turn into yet another surprise shopping trip.

"So, Mum, where are we going first?" she asked rounding the corner of the kitchen. She'd always loved traveling and she hardly knew anything about Australia, which was one of the reasons she'd picked it as her parents' hiding place to begin with. However, as she turned, she found an extra person sitting at the table.

"Hi Hermione," said Nathan, grinning broadly, and though she'd found it charming until that point, for a moment she suddenly wanted nothing more than to knock that smile off his face.

"Uh, hello. What are you doing here?" she demanded, trying not to sound panicked. She was flustered over the idea that he might've heard her call her 'Aunt Monica' 'Mum.' And she cast a scathing glance in her Mother's direction, immediately blaming her for not giving her any warning. Thankfully he seemed to have missed her slip-up.

"Well Dr. Wilkins mentioned Friday that you'd decided to stay for school after all. And she had the idea that since we're fairly close in age and I attend UWA, I could show you around and tell you a little bit about some of your options."

The glare Hermione shot her Mother lingered as long as she thought it safe without Nathan noticing. So, she'd been planning this since Friday and had what? Just forgotten to mention it to her? "Well, that's quite nice of you, but I was under the impression that my_ aunt and uncle _and I were going to spend the day shopping. And I'm sure that wouldn't be much fun for you."

Nathan continued to smile which Hermione found rather off-putting. "No, it probably wouldn't," he said.

"Oh we can do that any time sweetheart," said her Mum. "But Nathan starts exams soon, and this will probably be the only chance he'll have to show you around. And I just thought, well, since you don't know anyone and school won't be starting for a few months, it might be nice for you to have a friend."

Hermione looked to her father pleadingly whose eyes widened as if to say 'don't look at me.' Apparently he knew he had far greater reason to fear his wife's wrath than his daughter's.

Hermione bit her lip. The whole thing felt like a setup. But while her Mum had encouraged her relationship with Viktor and certainly seemed to like Ron, she'd never been one to push Hermione to date, always insisting that she move at her own pace as she felt comfortable. And it would be nice to have a friend. While Nathan could never be a substitute for Ron or Harry, he might help take her mind off of how much she missed them.

"Alright. Sure, why not?" Hermione said, throwing her hands up in exasperated defeat.

Her mum clapped her hands together. "Wonderful." She proceeded to give Hermione some Muggle money to buy lunch with if they got hungry.

"Thanks for the coffee Dr. Wilkins, Dr. Wilkins," Nathan said, nodding at both of them before turning to Hermione. "All ready?"

Hermione sighed. "Lead the way," she said and followed him to the front door. How bad could it be?

...

As it turned out, not that bad at all. Nathan had asked her immediately about the things she was interested in. After Hermione disappointed Nathan by assuring him that she didn't have the slightest interest in 'footy,' he'd had spent the day showing her the best bookstores, libraries, cinemas and museums in Perth. It had also been a good chance to show her the city's available public transit with its network of trains, busses and ferries. He'd even pointed out some of his favorite restaurants and Hermione had actually managed to find a few that were looking to hire a waitress and she'd taken several applications. Nathan had teased her a bit about this, telling her she didn't look anything like a waitress and thought she'd be better suited applying to work in some sort of office or shop and Hermione had been embarrassed to confess that she'd never held a job before. Her family had always been well-off and she'd never had much need for money beyond the allowance her parents gave her.

After that, they'd gotten kebabs at a take-away stand for lunch and walked along the Swan River, and made their way to the University of Western Australia's campus which was situated right on the riverbank.

"So you're in your third year?" Hermione guessed.

"Fourth," Nathan corrected.

"So you're almost finished?"

He nodded. "Just one more semester after this one."

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask: how can you work at Southshore with my mu-aunt every day of the week and still go to school?" Hermione cursed herself for nearly letting the truth slip _again_. But again Nathan seemed to have missed it and she wondered if he was a little hard of hearing, or perhaps a bit thick.

"I actually could've finished in three years," he confessed, "but I couldn't afford to go full-time or anything. My parents don't have much money and my scholarship couldn't cover tuition. So if I wanted to go, I had to take out loans and work to cover expenses. As soon as I graduate I have to start paying them back, so I need to work as much as I can now to save as much money for later. It's taken me an extra year because I couldn't take as many classes, but it's worked out okay. Your aunt's clinic is just a ferry-ride away from school so it seemed like the perfect place to work, especially since they pay better than anywhere else I could find. Just means I have to take all my classes at night."

"Isn't that hard?" Hermione asked, impressed. "You work all day and attend lessons at night. When do you find time to study?" She almost felt guilty for taking him away from his responsibilities, remembering that her mother had even said his exams were coming up.

He laughed though Hermione did see what was funny. "I make do. Finding time to study isn't the problem. It's finding time for anything else that's hard."

"Anything else?"

"Like this," he said, waving his hand through the air, sounding a tad frustrated. "Do you know how long it's been since I just took an afternoon like this for myself? Do you know how long it's been since I've been on a date? Hell, half the places I showed you today I haven't been to in over a year because I haven't had the time."

Hermione could certainly sympathize with that. Before she'd gone to Hogwarts it seemed like she'd had all the time in the world to herself. But having Harry Potter as one of your best friends tended to consume all of your free time, and she'd found herself thinking of almost nothing else but Riddle and the coming war and Harry's role in it the last few years, to the point that when she allowed herself a bit of juvenile self-indulgence, she almost felt guilty for enjoying herself.

"So," she said, eager to lighten the mood, "do you like the University?"

"Yeah, it's pretty great. UWA's actually one of the best schools in the country. It's actually considered part of the Group of Eight…sort of like Australia's Ivy League. Granted, UWA is probably the worst of the bunch, but that just means it's easier to get a scholarship here when everyone else wants to go to Sydney or Melbourne," he said, winking at Hermione to let her know he was at least partially joking. "The library's pretty great though, you'd like that. But if you're as clever as youraAunt likes to pretend, you'll probably want to go in for the top schools."

Nathan continued talking, pointing out different buildings on campus and explaining their importance but Hermione was only half-listening. She'd been caught off-guard by his comment; she hadn't considered the possibility of attending school in a _different _city than Perth. It made sense to some extent. She'd always pushed herself to excel at the highest levels and what good was there to attend a second-rate school when she could get in to the crème de la crème? After all, if the Australian Ministry came through with the proper documentation, she should appear more than qualified to get accepted and she felt confident she would perform at her best if she was competing at the highest level possible.

But going to school in Sydney or Melbourne or anywhere else would defeat the entire purpose of staying in Australia. She might as well go back to England if she wasn't going to stay in Perth. She could keep just as good an eye on her parents from Hogwarts as she could from Sydney—which was to say not a very good watch at all. And UWA was perfect. As Nathan had pointed out it was just across the river from her Mum's clinic and only another twenty minutes from her parents' house.

When there was a break in Nathan's explanations Hermione spoke up. "Actually, I'm fairly confident that this is my first choice."

"Yeah?" asked Nathan, seeming to brighten at her statement.

She nodded. He smiled and she couldn't help but return it; it was infectious. "I'm quite sure of it. My aunt and uncle were the ones who convinced me to go to school here in the first place, and it just wouldn't feel right to end up in another city after coming all the way down here."

"You mean they're making you stay? Or you wanted to go back, but they convinced you to stay?"

"Not exactly." Hermione frowned. She couldn't full well explain the situation, but a part of her felt like she needed to talk about it to someone besides her parents. "I just…I'm not exactly close with my parents these days. And I've always liked my aunt and uncle…and I sort of saw this as an opportunity to get closer to them. I wouldn't want to give that up just to go to a better school; otherwise I would've stayed in England."

She noticed Nathan was looking at her oddly, "What?" she asked, quickly running the back of her hand over her mouth, worried she might have something on her face. "What? What is it?"

"Relax, Hermione," he said taking her hand and lowering it. "You're perfect. I just…never mind. It's not my business."

"What?" Hermione asked, now curious despite her slight blush from his earlier comment.

"Well…" he said reluctantly, "it's just I've noticed that when you talk about your aunt…you sometimes start to call her mom."

"Do I?" she asked nervously, trying to laugh it off, while cringing inwardly. Apparently Nathan's hearing was rather keen after all.

"Yeah, you've done it twice today."

"I…I hadn't noticed."

"And you did the same thing a few times last week when you came to the office."

"Oh?"

He grinned at her. "Hey if you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But I'm not stupid."

"I didn't think you were," she said indignantly.

"Well you were acting like it. Maybe you should take a theatre class while you're here as your skills could use some work."

She laughed, but decided he had a point. "I'm sorry. It's just…it's complicated. _Really complicated, _and I hardly know you."

"Hey, no problem. I understand. Everybody's got something," he said. "And if you're going to be sticking around, maybe you'll tell me someday. I mean we'll be going to school together and all that, so we'll have loads of chances to get to know each other better."

She nodded, not really meaning it. No matter how long she stayed here or how close she and Nathan became, she was sure that she would never explain that her _something _was being a witch and her 'aunt and uncle' were actually her 'mum and dad' whom she'd sent here to protect them from a war she'd been instrumental in winning. It was just too complicated, but it was something she would just have to deal with now.

Unfortunately Nathan chose that moment to complicate things even further.

He kissed her.

And then it was over, before she'd been completely sure that it was actually happening, before she'd managed to feel or register anything except the fact that a boy's lips were touching hers. A boy who wasn't named Ron Weasley.

"What was that?" Hermione asked staring at him, wide-eyed.

Nathan grinned, though he seemed a tad embarrassed at his rash behavior. "Not exactly sure. We've been having a good time and it's not every day I meet someone as wonderful as you who also happens to be beautiful. So…I took a shot." His smile faded a bit. "Why? Did you not like it?"

"I…I'm not sure," she admitted. It had all happened so fast. She'd only kissed three boys in her entire life before today and truthfully her first kiss with Viktor and her only kiss with McLaggen had only happened _because _of Ron. But she wasn't sure why—or how—this one had happened in the slightest.

"I just…I like you Hermione. And I thought maybe you liked me too. And I told you I don't have much time to spend looking for someone like you."

Hermione remained silent; they were sweet sentiments, but she couldn't exactly say that she felt the same. Thankfully he seemed to take her silence as her answer.

"Look we can just forget it ever happened, okay? It won't happen again. I promise."

Hermione simply nodded.

...

"Well I guess this is you," Nathan said, as they stood on her parents' porch.

After the kiss, Hermione had felt incredibly uncomfortable. The enjoyable time she'd been having had completely evaporated and she'd spent the rest of his tour watching to make sure he wasn't about to try anything again instead of listening to him as he talked about his past classes and professors.

After they'd finished checking out the University, he'd insisted on taking her to dinner. She'd protested, feeling like going would send the completely wrong signal, but Nathan refused to take no for an answer, telling her he needed to make up for his earlier behavior. In the end, she'd relented, realizing that simply leaving would end things on a sour note and make any future encounters with Nathan at school or her mother's office incredibly awkward and uncomfortable.

In the end, dinner had been quite enjoyable. He'd taken her to a seafood restaurant and the food was quite good for the price. And Nathan had done a valiant job of relieving the lingering awkwardness and chatted nonstop until she was laughing at his jokes and even joining in until she was once again completely at-ease.

She'd asked him about his exams which were starting soon and learned he was majoring in biology, though he hoped to go into the research field, rather than anything in the medical professions. He'd asked her what she planned on studying and she admitted she hadn't much thought about it, telling him she was interested in everything. He'd laughed and suggested Literature considering her obvious love of books. And she'd been pleased one little half-kiss hadn't ruined a potential friendship.

"Thank you, for showing me around. I know my aunt certainly appreciates it. And so do I," Hermione told him.

Nathan smiled. "No problem. You did me a favor too. You were a good excuse to forget about the books for the day. But I'm blaming you if your aunt catches me falling asleep at my desk tomorrow because I was up all night trying to catch up."

Hermione laughed. "Well goodnight."

And before she had the time to turn back toward the door he was kissing her again, this time letting his lips linger on hers, his hand moving to her slender waist to pull her closer as he deepened the kiss. And Hermione could feel his tongue pushing against her mouth and felt her lips open, granting his tongue access where it swirled over her own. She wasn't exactly kissing him back, but neither was she fighting him.

It was nothing like kissing Viktor; their first had been completely awkward and they'd knocked heads when she lunged at him during the Yule Ball, wanting to momentarily forget the awful things Ron had said to her and accused her of, not yet understanding he'd only spoken out of jealousy. And the few kisses they shared after that—while nice—had always seemed a bit…_lacking_ in some way.

And it was certainly nothing like kissing McLaggen. Yes, he'd obviously been quite experienced and had developed a wonderful technique that seemed to create some kind of vacuum that practically ensnared Hermione's tongue around his, but she'd been far too disgusted with his wandering hands and herself for stooping to such tactics to get back at Ron to even remotely enjoy the whole ordeal.

Their lips came apart, but before they completely separated Nathan planted one last, soft kiss on her.

"What happened to not letting that happen again?" Hermione asked when they broke apart, sounding slightly breathless as she ran the back of her hand across her lips.

"I forgot," he said cheekily. "What happened to you not liking it?" he teased.

"I…I never said I didn't like it. I said I…I wasn't sure."

"Well?"

Hermione bit her lip. The truth was she didn't know. Lately it seemed like she wasn't sure of anything: modifying her parents' memories, staying in Australia to be with them, Ron's real feelings for her. It was all such a mess.

_Ron_. She'd have to tell him about this, tell him that someone else had kissed her, that she'd allowed herself to kiss him back. Immediately she began picturing the row between them that would surely follow and cringed inwardly.

Or did she?

"Hermione?"

Nathan's voice snapped her wandering mind away from thoughts of Ron and back to Australia. "What? Ah, sorry, I was, um…"

Nathan grinned again. "Must be a better kisser than I thought if I can get a brain like yours to stop working."

She smiled at his joke, but there was no joy behind it. "I'm sorry, Nathan—"

"Hey, hey, no worries. It won't happen again I swear. I get it."

Suddenly Hermione hear those same words echo over the sound of pounding rain, accompanied by a flash of red. "No you don't understand—" Hermione hurried to clarify, not really sure _what _she planned to tell him.

"I do, really. And it's fine. Like I said, I just thought I'd take a shot…and looking at your face I see I've botched everything up, so I think I'll be going now." He turned, a familiar air of defeat around him.

"Wait," Hermione protested softly, grabbing his arm. Nathan looked back and their eyes met for just a moment before she looked away. "Look, I don't know about you, but I could really use a friend right now," she said, laying it all out there. Nathan looked at her hesitantly. "Please?" she asked, putting a hopefully smile on her face. "You're all I've got."

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Nathan asked, though he too was now smiling.

Hermione shook her head, her thoughts drifting to two small boys standing over an unconscious mountain troll. "Everyone needs a friend, believe me. They're the only thing that get you each day. So what do you say?"

Nathan looked down at her hand and shook it. "A little formal," he joked. "Is this always how you start off a new friendship?

"Not usually," she admitted, once again remembering the muttered thanks she'd shared with Ron and Harry in the common room one Halloween night seven years earlier. "But I don't think there are any trolls in Perth." And when Nathan looked at her strangely, Hermione laughed, the warmth of his hand filling the loneliness in her heart.

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><p><strong>AN:** The chapter's title comes from the song "All of My Thoughts" by Spiritualized off their album _Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space._

So like OMG! Do you guys hate Hermione right now? Do you hate ME right now? Who was actually surprised? I know a couple reviewers guessed that Hermione had a summer fling while in Australia and that Nathan would show up again. Hopefully you guys know the answers I gave you this chapter are all only PARTIAL answers, and not the full explanation. You'll have to read on to get the whole story.


	14. CH13: Heroes

**A/N: A**n extra heap of kudos to my beta **superfan24** for drying my tears over reviews for the last chapter and for pulling double duty and reviewing two chapters in one go.**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 13: Heroes<strong>

_18 December, 1998_

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger_

_We at the Ministry are delighted to inform you that in recognition for your services in the Second Wizarding War and in playing an integral part in the defeat of the dark wizard Tom M. Riddle, you have been selected as a recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class. The award ceremony, along with a commemoration for those who gave their lives in the war, will be held the first of January at Bamburgh Castle at sunset, followed by a Ball in honor of yourself and your fellow recipients. We graciously hope you will accept this award and acquiesce to our request for your presence at the ceremony._

_Forever in your debt,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic_

_Tiberius Ogden, Chief Warlock, Wizengamot_

_H,_

_I'm sorry, but I can't make it tonight. Mum sort of lost it a bit last night, and I wouldn't feel right leaving her. Hope you're not too mad. I'll make it up to you. Did you get a letter about this Order of Merlin nonsense? What am I thinking, of course you did. Pretty wicked right? I was thinking maybe we could go together. Unless some Bulgarian git already asked you? _

_Don't tell Ginny about Mum. I don't want her to worry._

_R_

Hermione had received the first letter the day before and the second one this morning. The first was unexpected, but not surprising. It had been three months since Rita's article lambasted herself and Harry, plenty of time for the public to forget any hard feelings toward their beloved darling heroes. With no trace of arrogance, Hermione had actually expected to receive the Order of Merlin at some point; she was just surprised that it had happened so soon.

The second letter was far more troubling. Ron had cancelled on her, practically at the last minute. At least back in sixth year he'd had the decency to give her almost an entire month to find another date; now she only had a matter of hours.

She ought to be furious at him. She certainly wanted to be. But how could she begrudge him for wanting to stay home with his mother when she'd spent two months in Australia with her own? It was actually painful to hear that Mrs. Weasley had been having a rough go of it; she'd looked so much better at the Quidditch match last month, certainly better than Hermione had seen her since Bill and Fleur's wedding, and she wondered what could have caused her to relapse.

So instead she tried to look on the bright side. She and Ron had been writing one-another since the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. True, Ron's letters were usually on the short side for her liking, and they kept to casual topics and light jokes and chitchat about the shop and lessons and whether Fleur was going to have a boy or girl, but at least they'd been talking. And she would be going to a Ball with Ron, something she'd wanted since she was fifteen.

She just had to get through tonight first, and then nearly two weeks with her parents, before it happened.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Ginny asked Hermione, doing a terrible job of hiding her disappointment.

Hermione considered her friend for a moment. Things were practically back to normal between the two girls. All it had taken was a little time…and Hermione's many offers to help with Ginny's Transfiguration essays. She glanced down at her clothes, not seeing what was wrong with them. "What?"

Ginny signed. "Hermione, did you ever think the reason it took my brother so long to notice you were a girl might've been the fact that you hid your best bits beneath your hair and baggy robes?"

"Ron noticed," Hermione huffed. "He just…he just didn't _notice _that he'd noticed." Ginny scrunched her face up, doing a very good impression of Ron when he was trying to parcel sense out of something confusing. They really were an awful lot alike. "Anyway, Ron's not coming."

"But, you told me you'd asked him after my match."

"I did."

"And you said he'd agreed."

"He had."

"So?"

"So something's come up and he won't be making it."

Ginny looked at her incredulously. "And you're okay with that? You're not going to send him a curse that'll make his bollocks shrivel up?"

"Ginny!" Hermione protested. "Honestly, your mouth is filthier than Ron's. And yes, I'm alright with your brother not coming. He gave me his reasons and I completely understand."

"So you don't like Ron's mouth?" Ginny teased.

"Wha-what?" Hermione stammered.

"Or does that mean you do like his mouth? Or maybe—"

"Ginny! Please."

"What? We used to talk about stuff like this."

"Not really."

"Well, no, I guess we didn't," conceded Ginny frowning, before her face brightened. "But we can start now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we've got an hour before Harry's getting here, and I thought we could talk."

"About?" Hermione asked apprehensively, already not liking where the conversation was heading.

"Well…" suddenly Ginny was no longer the confident, headstrong woman Hermione admired and often envied for her looks and confidence; she was back to being the thirteen year-old girl that had confessed to her at the Burrow how jealous she was that she, Hermione, had taken not only her brother, but the boy she fancied all for herself. She was the girl who had accused her of lying when Rita's article came out saying she and Harry were a couple, crying all the while. She was the same girl that had come to her, confused, when she'd discovered Harry wasn't the only boy in the world, wondering what she should do. "…I think…I think I know what I'm getting Harry for Christmas." Hermione said nothing. She didn't understand why this was an issue, but remained silent. If only she could exhibit this kind of patience with Ron. "I think…I think I'm going to sleep with him."

Hermione was a bit surprised, not at the fact that Ginny wanted to sleep with Harry, but because they apparently hadn't already. She'd known the two of them hadn't done much physically when they'd first gotten together since Ginny had wanted to be absolutely sure it wasn't just Harry's hormones that'd led to their post-match snog back in sixth year, but surely they'd had plenty of chances since then. They'd been at the Burrow all those months until Ginny left for Hogwarts, and while Hermione guessed they hadn't jumped right into things after she'd left for Australia, she would've thought they'd progressed to that point by now. "Alright," Hermione said, somehow managing to remain patient and wait to see how she fit in.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Hermione, I know you and Ron shagged."

"What! What gave you that idea?"

"You did kick Harry out of his room the night before you left. You don't have to be, well, _you_ to put two-and-two together."

Hermione felt a warmth spread out from her middle as she remembered how that night had started, replaced quickly by a bucket of ice being dumped on her as she remembered how it had ended. That day was the cause of all her current problems and confusions and just because there were a few good bits mixed in, it didn't mean she enjoyed reliving the memory. "Ginny I know that's how it looked, but we didn't…we didn't."

"Oh come off it. I'm the one who brought it up. I know he's my brother, but you can—"

"Ginny, we didn't!" Hermione insisted.

"Really?" Hermione nodded and Ginny frowned. "Well why not? Didn't you want to?"

"No! I mean y-yes," Hermione squeaked. "I…of course I did."

"Well then why not?"

_Why not indeed_. Hermione had pondered this very question a hundred times that night after Ron had stopped things from going too far and a thousand times since. "Ron didn't want to. He thought…he thought that we'd…that I'd regret it."

Ginny's eyes widened in understanding. "Is that why you stayed in Australia so long? Because you thought he didn't-Hermione, you're off your rocker."

"Excuse me?"

"Please don't tell me you stayed away because you thought Ron didn't want to shag you."

Hermione bit her lip. "Not exactly," she said, though a part of her _had _thought that; a part of her still did in fact. On the other hand, he certainly hadn't minded getting off with her every other way imaginable. "Ginny I really don't want to talk about this. I mean if you want…advice or something, for Harry…"

"Right," said Ginny, seeming to sense how uncomfortable Hermione was. "Forget it." Hermione nodded and picked up her Arithmancy text, but noticed Ginny was still eyeing her warily.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed.

"I just don't understand why you and Ron make everything so hard. You fancy him, you _know_ he fancies you. So what's stopping you? He's angry you left for so long, right? Well maybe if you remind him of how he left you and Harry last year, he'll shut up and realize at least you had a good reason; you had your parents to think about."

"He told you that he left?" Hermione said, astonished. Ron had refused to talk to her about his reasons for leaving, or tell her the truth about the locket, but had talked to Ginny? It was then she remembered finding the remains of the Horcrux in his room among his other valuables. With everything else going on she'd almost forgotten her curiosity over why he still had the thing after they gave it to Professor McGonagall.

"Not a lot," Ginny said, shrugging. "But it sounded like he was a total wanker."

"You don't understand. He had his reasons," Hermione said, struggling to control her anger at Ginny. Not that she understood Ron's reasons completely either, but Ginny hadn't been there when he left, hadn't listened to him apologize for leaving in the first place.

"But so did you, right? For staying away so long I mean. Look, all I'm saying is if you could forgive him for leaving, he can do the same for you. You just need to make sure he knows you're sorry. It's that simple."

Hermione agreed and Ginny let the matter drop. She returned to her Arithmancy book until Ginny finished getting ready and both went to meet Harry before heading to Slughorn's party.

As it turned out, Ron's absence and Hermione's lack of a date wasn't the end of the world she feared it would be. Professor Slughorn spent half the evening dragging her off to meet one of his protégés after another and she ended up talking to everyone from the owner of a chain of apothecaries to a vampire hunter to the owner of the Daily Prophet—the last being a rather short and very awkward conversation. She even had the chance to speak to Walter Portsmith, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures after Professor Slughorn introduced them.

"Set them free, Miss Granger?" the mustachioed wizard chortled after Hermione had said her piece. "Oh, to be young and still have your ideals. What I would give to be doe eyed and eager all over again, eh Sluggy?" he said, turning to the Potions master.

"Indeed Walter. Indeed. Though age does have its benefits," said Slughorn.

"Right you are," said Portsmith, still chuckling. "Like a house elf to pick up after you and plenty of insulation for the winter," he said, patting his expansive gut, before turning back to Hermione. "Ideals are fine things to have, but you might find the real world does a good job of grinding them out of you faster than you can say golden snidget. But if you're truly interested in joining the department, have Old Sluggy here set something up. I'd love to have you aboard."

Hermione held her tongue and nodded her assent, before quickly excused herself. She'd wanted to remind the man that she'd just lived through a war, fighting on the front lines and if that hadn't killed her spirit and convictions, she doubted the bureaucracy of the Ministry would be able to. But it didn't really matter what he thought. Portsmith had seemed much more interested in having an Order of Merlin recipient working in his department than in any of her actual thoughts or ideas.

As she spotted Harry and Ginny and made her way toward them, she thought about how strange it would be to work at the Ministry. After Fudge and Scrimgeour she'd been certain she would never trust the wizarding government ever again, let alone work for it. But Kingsley seemed to be doing his best to change things, and he probably needed help doing so in areas outside the Auror Office.

The best part of the night was of course catching up with Harry, who seemed to be doing a much better job of avoiding Slughorn than herself. Seeing as Ginny stuck close to him—a few times a little too close, even for Hermione—all night, she never got the chance to ask Harry how Mrs. Weasley was doing, and Harry for his part didn't comment on Ron's absence. But he did tease her about signing her up for a Stealth and Tracking course so she could avoid Slughorn as well as he seemed to be doing. Hermione also got to congratulate him for completing his training and hear how he'd spent his first few weeks as a Junior Auror.

And Ginny too was in an exceptionally good mood as Gwenog Jones had made an appearance and the two of them plus Harry chatted about Quidditch nonstop for over an hour. But as Hermione zoned out after the first twenty minutes, she thought back over the conversation she'd had with Ginny. She knew things weren't as simple as Ginny made them sound. It wasn't as easy as apologizing for leaving, for staying away so long, for never writing. Of course she _was_ sorry for all of that, and needed to apologize for it. But it was _everything else_ that was causing her uncertainty. The problem was she didn't know if it was better to rekindle a relationship with a lie or risk ruining the chance at one with the truth.

_27 December, 1998_

Hermione left Hogwarts by Floo early the next day and used the International Floo Network for the first time to arrive back in Australia. She'd been terrified, of going to stay with her parents for the first part of the holidays, worried over the state she might find them in. In fact she was probably even more worried about them than she was of working things out with Ron; after all, nearly all their problems stemmed from the fact that she'd decided her parents had needed her more than he did and had chosen accordingly.

Thankfully, both her Mum and Dad seemed just as happy as they'd been when she'd left them four months earlier. They'd managed to buy a piano in the interim and many a night was spent with the three of them taking turns playing their favorite Christmas songs while the others sang. And surprisingly, they'd both received invitations to the Order of Merlin ceremony as well and Hermione was especially pleased that she would have the chance to share at least one piece of her life as witch with them.

All in all, she considered it the best Christmas holidays ever; there was no half-cat Polyjuice fiasco, no confiscated Firebolt, no snake attack, no Yule Ball, and no Lavender Brown. And even if things were still a bit uncertain with Ron, she at least knew he was most likely at the Burrow, enjoying time with his family and she would be seeing him in a few days instead of wondering if she might die before ever getting the chance to speak to him again. She was a bit disappointed in his present though: a WWW Self-Writing Quill. It was quite practical and fairly expensive, but she didn't care about that. Sixteen year-old Hermione would've been quite pleased with a 'practical' gift from Ron, but her nineteen year-old self wanted sweet, even romantic—something like his gesture for S.P.E.W. or that gastly perfume. But she told herself she was only being critical because she was nervous about where they stood and because she'd put so much time and effort into his gift.

There was however Nathan. Her parents had never mentioned him in any of their letters they sent to her over the last term but she'd only been home two days before her mum mentioned how he'd asked about her several times since she'd gone back to England. Hermione had responded politely, but tried to seem uninterested and the matter had been dropped. Of course, her mother had quickly moved on to asking her about Ron instead. And seeing as Hermione changed this subject just as quickly every time it was brought up, she shouldn't have been surprised when he showed up at her parents' house two days after Christmas.

Her dad was busy in the kitchen and asked her to get the door. She opened it to find Nathan standing there looking very tan and very pleased to see her.

"Hi," he said.

"Nathan," Hermione gasped. "What are you doing at my…aunt's house?"

"Well at the moment I'm standing on the porch talking to you and wondering if you're going to invite me in or not," he said, grinning.

Unsettled, she moved to let him in. Her mum appeared seemingly out of nowhere as if by magic and insisted he stay for supper and Hermione scolded herself for avoiding the topic of Nathan with her mum instead of making it clear that she did NOT under any circumstance want to see him.

The meal was very polite and very awkward. He asked how she was enjoying Cambridge (apparently her parents had told him that's where she went to Uni) and she'd had to make up a great spiel about her classes and professors. Luckily she'd been rereading several Muggle novels over the holiday as a reprieve from schoolwork and had managed to rant on about Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde long enough that she saw Nathan's eyes glaze over slightly and figured he had bought their cover story.

After supper, her parents retired to the drawing room for tea and to listen to some records while Nathan asked for her to accompany him on a walk around the block. She really didn't want to talk to him, but it seemed she didn't have much choice. They walked along in silence for almost ten minutes before one of them spoke.

"So you left."

It wasn't a question, but Hermione nodded. "Are you all finished up?" she asked.

"Yup. Graduated and got my diploma and everything," he said, grinning, though he didn't sound very enthusiastic.

"That's wonderful, Nathan. What…what are your plans now?"

"Not sure. Maybe do some traveling, find a University where I can teach a class once a week and spend the rest of my time researching." He paused for a second. "I hear the libraries in England are pretty well-stocked."

Hermione tensed a little. "Yes, I suppose they are."

Nathan came to a stop and she copied him. They turned and faced each other. "Hermione, I still like you."

"Nathan, don't…"

"Did you leave because of me? Because I…"

"No, it wasn't you."

"…I'm really sorry. I mean that night…I never meant…"

"Really, Nathan, it's fine."

"…I'm not making excuses. I wanted to, just not…"

"Please, just stop!" Hermione was in tears. The last thing she wanted to do was think about that night and what they had done. Everything with Nathan had been one mistake after another. "It has nothing to do with…with…all that. I knew things weren't right before then; I just…I couldn't ignore it anymore after that."

They were both silent for a moment. "There's someone else, isn't there? That…that Ron fellow?" Nathan was frowning. She'd only seen him frown once before: when she'd broken up with him. It didn't suit him in the slightest.

"Yes," she said, sniffling. "Yes it's him."

"You love him."

She nodded. _Oh God did she love Ron_.

"And he loves you?"

Now _that _was a question she was still uncertain of the answer. "I…I don't…I'm not sure. I thought…but now…"

She saw Nathan twitch as if he'd started to reach out to comfort her but thought better of it. She was glad. She didn't want him to touch her, not anymore, not ever if she was completely honest. There was only one person she wanted touching her like that, and Nathan's smile didn't hold a candle to his.

_1 January, 1999_

The hall where the ceremony was held was quite extravagant, though in Hermione's biased opinion it didn't quite compare to Hogwarts at Christmas. She sat in between Ron and Harry in the front row with Ginny on Harry's right and Neville, who was also being honored, seated next to her with Luna on his right. The Weasleys, her parents, Neville's Grandmother, various Order members and important Ministry officials filled out the rows behind them.

After a Ministry speaker opened the ceremony and talked at length about Merlin and the origins of the award, it was Kingsleys turn to speak. He cast _Sonorous _on himself.

"My friends, my fellow witches and wizards, we have spent years fighting, fighting a war that finally ended a scant eight months ago after decades of conflict. Many of us here tonight did our part in that fight, and many more are not here because they gave their lives in the service of peace. But one man, more than any other is the reason we are here, safe and happy. It is my great honor to award him with the Order of Merlin First Class and an even greater honor to call him my friend." Kingsley paused and extended his hand toward the front row. "Mr. Harry James Potter."

Harry rose and walked, rather stiffly toward Kingsley and she heard Ron snigger before she elbowed him to shut him up. She watched as Harry faced Kingsley and bowed his head as the older wizard slipped a large medal around her friend's neck. The entire hall erupted into applause and Hermione clapped along while Ron and Ginny whistled, causing Harry to blush at all the fuss. She couldn't believe Harry was willingly going through with this; it was so unlike him.

After the applause died down, she saw Harry take out his own wand and point it at his throat.

"Thank you. Uh," and this time Hermione couldn't help but giggle along with Ron at Harry's clear discomfort. "I just, I wanted to say that what I did, I only did because of the help of so many people. I wouldn't be here today, wouldn't have even had the chance to fight Riddle if it weren't for those people. My parents, they would've…" Harry choked on his words and Hermione felt herself tearing up. "But it wasn't because I was The Chosen One, or any of that nonsense you've read about," Harry continued after regaining his composure. "Albus Dumbledore once told me that all the nonsense about the Prophesy didn't really matter. I was able to beat Riddle because he singled me out as a threat, because he picked me to mark," Harry said, touching his scar instinctively. "Which just goes to show that we create our own destinies, our own futures. And just to prove it, we have Neville Longbottom." Hermione could feel her own eyes turn to Neville along with Harry's and everyone else around them. "I don't think he ever knew it, but it could've been Neville with this scar, could've been him who had to end things. It just turned out that Riddle picked me instead. But in the end it didn't matter. Neville fought just like I did. He destroyed a piece of Riddle just as I did when he killed the snake. He didn't even know about the prophecy or how close he and I came to exchanging places, but we both wound up on the same path. Which is why I'm honored to present him with the Order of Merlin Second Class."

Neville stood and strode up to Harry with the same confidence he'd demonstrated as he had when facing Riddle single-handed during the battle. Harry placed the medal around his neck as he bowed and Neville took his place next to Kingsley, grinning broadly as the hall once more erupted into applause.

When Harry spoke again, it seemed as though he was looking directly into Hermione's eyes. "Now, there have been loads of people who helped me. But there are two who have always been there for me. I would be dead a hundred times over if it weren't for them and if I had to, I'd cut this thing in three and split it with them," he said, lifting his medal. "But, Kingsley tells me we've got plenty so I guess that's not necessary," he joked. Suddenly she felt something grip her hand tightly and looked down to see Ron's large hand encasing her own and she squeezed back, awash with gratitude.

"I owe them everything. They were my first friends, my first family. I watched them willingly sacrifice everything again and again. I love them."

Hermione felt herself being pulled along as Ron rose from his seat at Harry's words and they both hurried toward their friend. They approached him hand-in-hand and she saw Harry glance down at their entwined fingers. "This looks a bit familiar, doesn't it?" Harry said, grinning as he tried to whisper, though the spell amplified his voice anyway.

"Oh just get on with it, Harry," scolded Hermione, though she was now crying and her words lacked any hint of anger. She and Ron bowed their heads, but when she felt nothing slide over her head and around her neck, she peaked up and saw Harry too was bowing.

"Alright, enough of that, you cheeky git," said Ron, looking a bit misty-eyed himself. He gave Harry a playful shove and grabbed the two medals. He turned toward Hermione and slipped one around her neck. She could feel her face burning as his fingers brushed through her hair, sliding across her bare shoulders as he smoothed out the band.

She stood up straight and he offered her the other medal. "Wanna do the honors?" he asked. Hermione grinned, and took it from him and slid it over his head as he stooped down. She didn't care if their behavior right now was juvenile or inappropriate for the occasion.

"You know I was suppose to do that," Harry said to them as the hall was filled with cheers, his voice now back to normal volume.

"Yeah, but you were acting like a total prat. Worse than Percy even," said Ron.

"And you got to do Neville," said Hermione, chiming in. "It's only fair."

"And I figured since you _love us _and _owe us everything_…" teased Ron.

"Alright, alright," said Harry, hushing them as the three of them finally came to stand next to Neville and Kingsley once more took center stage.

"These four young witches and wizards have done so much for us, but they are not the only ones," said Kingsley's booming voice. "Some in fact, have been unfairly mistreated and maligned for years. And as Minister, I believe it is my duty to both you and them to inform you of the truth."

"Sirius Black, a man this Ministry once condemned as a traitor and a murderer, spent twelve years in Azkaban, two years on the run and another in hiding because our government lacked the will to find the truth. We were so eager to point the finger that we put an innocent man behind bars, condemned him to a fate worse than death, a fate he barely escaped only to lose his life two years later in defense of the same people who punished him for a crime he never committed. He was never a Death Eater; he spent his life fighting Riddle and gave his life to protect his godson Harry. He deserves to be known as a hero."

"The other is Severus Snape. Unlike Sirius, Severus once _was _a Death Eater, and many of us believed him to be the murderer of Albus Dumbledore, myself included. But Harry Potter has given the Ministry proof that Severus Snape dedicated the last sixteen years of his life to the man we thought he had killed, and to the defense of peace. Dumbledore ordered him to kill him not only to earn Riddle's trust and to help put himself into a position to protect the children attending Hogwarts, but to spare a young man the pain of killing someone. And in the end, he died, alone and friendless for his troubles. In death, he too deserves to be called a hero.

"Both these men are hereby exonerated of all their accused crimes now and forever." The entire hall was silent, processing everything that had suddenly been thrown at them. Hermione looked to Harry, and hoped that this gesture toward Sirius gave him some small measure of comfort.

"But Sirius Black and Severus Snape are only two of the men who gave their lives in this war, a war that began in earnest on the twenty-fourth of June four years ago with the death of a young man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Amos Diggory, would you please join me."

Hermione watched as Cedric's father walked up to Kingsley and saw the Minister clasp the weary-looking man on the shoulder. "This year, in addition to the Order of Merlin, we are instituting a new decoration for all those who gave their lives in the war: the Cedric Diggory Sacrificial Star, named in honor of the first victim of the Last War. Would the friends and family of those who earned these Stars please come and accept them in their absence as I call their names?"

Kingsley then began reciting the list of names, clearly memorized as he did not read from any parchment. Hermione recognized many—either having known them personally or heard or read about them. She saw Andromeda Tonks holding little Teddy come up and accept two for her husband and daughter from Mr. Diggory. She saw Susan Bones come up with her parents to accept one for her aunt. Harry came forth and claimed Sirius's and, after a moment's hesitation, Snape's as well. Professor Sprout came forth to accept one for Charity Burbage and Kingsley accepted Moody's. Aberforth was there to accept on-behalf of Professor Dumbledore, his face missing any possible remaining bitterness toward his brother. And she held her breath and clutched her chest as she watched George Weasley rise alone out of the Weasleys and come and accept one for Fred. He was crying, something he hadn't even done at his twin's funeral, and she saw Ron move forward twice to comfort George, restraining himself both times. She took his hand and felt his fingers clench around hers tightly, squeezing until she feared he might break it. But she didn't try to move away or inform him of her discomfort. The pain was nothing compared to what he must be feeling for both George and Fred at that moment.

Many Stars had no-one to claim them, when entire families—such as the Crouches—had been wiped out completely. But as Ron continued to squeeze her hand, and Kingsley recited name after name, she became more and more aware of two names that were conspicuously absent.

Finally Kingsley finished and began his closing speech but Hermione didn't listen. Not once had she heard the names of Remus Lupin or Dobby said aloud. A quick scan of the crowd informed her of something she should've noticed right from the beginning; there were no non-humans present. No centaurs, no goblins, no elves. The closest anyone came was Hagrid and Fleur. Surely it wasn't Kingsley's decision to exclude them? He had known Remus, fought alongside him again and again, been members of the Order together.

As the crowd stood to applaud one last time she followed Harry—pulling Ron along behind her—as they made their way out of the hall so it could be transformed into a ballroom, she felt the happiness she'd first felt which had long since turned to sadness change once again to anger, at the fact that Remus and Dobby still weren't seen fit to be respected despite their sacrifices simply because they weren't human. _It's not right_, she thought. They'd suffered their entire lives—Dobby abused at the hands of the Malfoys, Remus ostracized by the wizarding community for an affliction outside of his own control—and were still treated unfairly in death. Dobby had died to save them, to save _her_. And Remus had taught her so much, had been her friend, had been willing to leave his son to go with the three of them to protect them.

In that moment, Hermione made a promise to herself that she would see that one day, the world would know their names, and honor their sacrifices.

Hermione was out of sorts. As if she wasn't bothered enough by the complete lack of recognition for Remus and Dobby, she was completely befuddled by Ron's actions. One moment he was acting sweet and the next he seemed indifferent. They'd danced once—exactly once—to open the ball before he'd passed her off to Harry so he could dance with Ginny. When they'd made their entrance into the hall together after the ceremony and started to dance, she'd been thinking _This is it. This was how it was supposed to be four years ago_. She might've been on the arm of a Champion at the Yule Ball, but tonight she was on the arm of a real hero—her hero. And she was there as a hero in her own right, on equal footing with Ron.

But then the dance had started and she'd been suddenly nervous. Yes they'd each kissed one-another on the cheek and she'd snuck a quick kiss that day in Diagon Alley, but those encounters had been brief. Now they were supposed to be pressed together, holding each other in their arms. And though Ron's arms were exactly the place she wanted to be, she didn't want to push Ron too fast. So she let him lead. Unfortunately he didn't pull her close like he had at his brother's wedding, but kept an inch between them. It was such a small distance, but to Hermione it felt like she was all the way back in Australia. It had taken all her efforts not to cry and let him know how much it hurt her to keep that gulf between them.

And then he'd shoved her onto Harry. Dancing with him had been fine, though he was obviously too concerned with not looking like a fool in front of everyone to relax and enjoy himself—not that she was one to talk about staying relaxed. And though she'd enjoyed watching Ron dance with Ginny in their own tribute to Fred, she couldn't help but feel bitter over how easy things between them were. She finally understood how Ron could've been jealous of her and Harry's relationship.

She'd thought when the dance ended they'd change partners again and she could try to get closer to Ron, do something to make him let his guard down a bit. She'd seen how he'd looked at her when they first met, how his eyes had popped at her dress. But he'd disappeared and when Ginny had come to collect Harry she'd told her Ron had just run to the loo.

That had been an hour ago. Since then, she'd been sitting alone at a table, drowning herself in flutes of champagne, though she was careful not to overdo it again. As she sat, clicking her tongue at ever couple that danced by, drumming her fingers on the table in between drinks, she grew more and more angry at Ron. It was one thing that he'd abandoned Padma at the Yule Ball; they hadn't even been friends and Ron was really just a clueless boy back then. _But to do this to me! _

She'd actually been approached by three young wizards offering to dance with her, but she'd turned them all down. A part of her felt it would only serve Ron right if she did dance with someone else. But the bigger part, the part of her that ached whenever she remembered she still needed to explain to him about Nathan, didn't want to do anything to further risk her relationship with Ron.

Finally, when she was beginning to think the best thing to do would be to find her parents and leave, she caught sight of Ron standing in the entrance to the hall talking to Luna. Her anger and frustration at him were immediately forgotten and she stood up, planning to go over to him and demand that he dance with her, even if she had to threaten to curse him. But in the time it took her to smooth out her dress Ron had apparently decided he'd rather dance with Luna and the two of them were waltzing about the dance floor.

Hermione felt the hot prick of tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She could've sworn he'd looked right at her for just a moment, seen that she had been waiting here alone for him all night. She didn't care if Ron wanted to dance with Luna; she wasn't that irrationally jealous. But it seemed clear that Ron _didn't _want to dance with her. So why had he asked her to go with him in the first place? Because it was expected? Because he felt sorry for her? Because he wanted to make up for cancelling on her for Slughorn's party?

"Excuse me?" a voice broke through her pitying thoughts. She turned and for the first time noticed a tall, blond fellow who looked to be a few years older than her. Hermione got the impression that he'd been standing there trying to talk to her for some time, but Ron's presence had distracted her.

"Yes?" she asked, feeling relieved that her voice sounded even and didn't betray her inner turmoil.

"I was wondering if I might ask you to dance."

She didn't know if it was the chance to get back at Ron or the champagne finally having an effect on her, but Hermione felt a soothing wave of tranquility slide over her as the young man extended his hand out toward her. "I'd like that," she told him, and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor.

"I'm surprised you said yes," the man told her as they spun about the floor. "I mean you _are_ Hermione Granger after all."

He didn't say it in a manner than was meant to flatter her; he actually seemed genuinely pleased and surprised that she'd accepted his offer. She looked at him. He would've been quite handsome but his pallid skin and dark eyes and slightly-sunken features gave him a somewhat sickly look, like he hadn't eaten or slept in weeks. "I know you, don't I?" Hermione asked.

He smiled briefly, revealing a very small mouth. "I was wondering if you'd remember me. Robert Quinn. I served on the Wizengamot during the trials for you and your friends."

"No, that's not it," she shook her head adamantly. "I mean yes, but you were at Hogwarts with us weren't you?"

"I was. I was in my seventh year when you were in your fourth I believe, the year of the Tournament."

"You were Head Boy that year, weren't you? After Percy Weasley; he's my frie—Ron's brother."

"Yes I know Percy. I was a prefect with him for two years and he and Kingsley work closely with the Wizengamot now. Good sort of fellow isn't he?"

Hermione nodded. "I suppose I have you to thank for the gaudy hunk of metal hanging around my neck, don't I?"

"I actually had nothing to do with that. And I get the feeling you wouldn't really be thanking me if I did, would you?"

No, she wouldn't. If Kingsley hadn't been the one to snub Dobby and Remus, it had to have been other high ranking members of the Ministry, like members of the Wizengamot. "Let's just say I don't find the Ministry's policy of excluding non-humans and _half-breeds_ to be something I like associating myself with."

Quinn was about to respond when Hermione saw Ron come up behind him and tap him on the shoulder.

"Why don't you go get something to drink fellah?" he told Quinn. He looked absolutely furious, his clear eyes burning into her as he kept his gaze locked on her while he spoke. "The lady and I need to talk."

Obviously sensing that he didn't want to be in the middle of whatever was about to happen, Quinn excused himself and left the dance floor without a second look back at them.

The moment Quinn was gone and she turned back to Ron, Hermione felt her pain and anger returning. She didn't understand what right Ron had to be angry with her, not when he'd been the one to abandon her all night and chosen to dance with Luna Lovegood when he'd known she'd been sitting there waiting for him. She opened her mouth to launch into a verbal assault when Ron pulled her against him, shattering that last inch of separation between them.

He was holding her to him, his fingers digging into the small of her back. Ron leaned forward as they danced until their cheeks were pressed together and she shut her eyes. "What're you trying to pull?" he growled into her ear. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. His mouth was so close she could practically imagine his teeth closing down on her earlobe, nipping at her the way she longed for and she felt herself shudder in pleasure.

"What?" she whispered, barely comprehending what he'd said, leaning further into him until the entire lengths of their bodies were pressed together. She could feel her heart hammering against her chest. _Or is that his_, she wondered; she couldn't tell.

"Were you trying to make me jealous?" Ron growled again, the rough stubble on his cheek sliding over her smoothness until his nose was pressed against her hair and she was sure she heard him inhale, breathing in her scent the way she was breathing in his.

"Did it work?" she gasped. Ron had spun them around quickly and the shift in their bodies had allowed her to feel just how hard a certain part of Ron's anatomy was at the moment as it dug into her stomach.

"Yes," Ron moaned. At the sound of his voice Hermione couldn't help but slide her hands down to his hips, pressing them against her, needing to feel him against her. She was aware that they weren't really dancing in-time with music any longer, merely swaying a bit on the spot, but she didn't care. She felt Ron pull back from her and she finally opened her eyes to look at him. She reached out a hand to cup his face but he caught it, surprising her, and pulled her off the dance floor.

...

Ron led her by the arm and pulled her into a room off the entrance hall, turning to close the door behind them. She looked around and noticed it was the same room they'd waited in earlier as strangers came up to congratulate them on their awards and thank them for what they'd done while the main hall was changed into a dance floor. It was a library of some sort, and was quite dark with the only light coming through the tall windows.

She walked over to a bookcase and turned around to face Ron. She'd been so close to kissing him out there, so sure that's what he'd wanted as well. But now she could see the anger was still there in his face.

"What were you doing with him?" Ron barked, taking a few paces forward until she was less than an arm's length from him.

"I-I…" she stammered. She was so confused when she looked at Ron, losing not only all sense of herself, but of him as well. It was like they were different people, capable of anything. And for one moment, as he took one more step toward her in the dark and shadows, she thought if this were any other man looking at her like that, she would've guessed he'd be prepared to hit her.

But this wasn't any other man; this was Ron, and a moment later she saw his anger fade, his eyes changing to look at her with tender concern. "Why are you crying?" Ron asked her, his voice soft and sweet.

She raised a hand to her cheek and felt the dampness there. She hadn't even been aware of it until Ron pointed it out. "You…" she said, her voice cracking. It was all she managed before he stepped forward and touched her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb.

"There she is," Ron whispered. She looked at him, about to ask what that meant when his lips came down on hers, starving yet gentle, his fingers sliding down to dig into her hips. And she was kissing him back. Before she even knew why, before she knew what was happening, she was kissing him like her life depended on it, her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she was pushed back into the bookshelves.

Hermione let out a squeak against his mouth as the wood dug painfully into her back and Ron pulled back a bit. Inwardly she cursed herself for letting a little pain spoil the moment. She opened her eyes and found Ron's staring back at her. Her gaze flicked down to his mouth, already red and swollen from their snog and then back to his eyes. Down, then back again. She bit her lip and her chin lifted, twitching to bring them closer together. And she saw Ron's last bit of resistance fall and he leaned in. And she shut her eyes as her hand went to the back of his head, running through his hair the way she'd so dearly missed, pushing their lips more tightly together. She felt one of his hands sliding up her body to cup her breast through her gown while the other squeezed her bottom, his fingers sliding into the crease as they dug into her plump flesh.

"No bra," Ron hummed against her, panting for air.

"The straps would've shown," she explained, surprised that her brain was still working. She didn't want to talk. She wanted…well she didn't know _exactly_ what she wanted, but she knew she wanted _more_ of it as she sealed her mouth around his once more, her tongue sliding across his and tongue, crying out in a mixture of pain and pleasure as his teeth bit down on her and sucked.

As they kissed, her small hands did their best to undo his robes, fumbling with the buttons. She needed to feel his skin again, trace the lines of his chest, touch the muscles in his shoulders, cling to the expanse of his back as they rocked together in ecstasy.

Ron's hand slid down from her arse to take hold of her behind her right knee, hefting her leg up till her foot settled on the edge of a shelf before sliding back up to cup her through her knickers. She was soaked, had been from the moment he'd pressed them together on the dance floor. Hermione rocked her hips, desperate to relieve the ache between her thighs, pressing herself into the hilt of his palm.

"Oh Ron," she gasped, thrusting against his hand as he pushed back. Her fingers gave up on his top and slid to his waist, undoing his belt and zip before delving inside to feel him. He was so smooth, so hot in her hands as she began to stroke his length.

"Want you," he mumbled, his lips warm and wet on her throat as he began thrusting into her hand. "Merlin I want you so much."

"Yes. Oh yes," she gasped as his hand slid the strap off her left shoulder and his fingers slid over her bare back, pulling her dress down with them, exposing her breast. His mouth descended on her nipple, already hard from the cold and arousal. And then his fingers shoved her knickers aside and plunged into the heat of her pussy and her left foot was lifted clear off the floor, her weight supported by the shelves behind her and Ron's two hands: one under her arse, the other buried in her fanny.

Their moves were erratic, each thrust of his fingers into her core had them both nearly toppling over and she reached one hand up above their heads to grab onto the bookcase for support, her knuckles turning white with the effort to keep balanced.

He had three fingers pumping into her, stretching her and shaping her to him, and her hand quickened over his silky length, desperate to give him the same pleasure he was giving her as she moaned and gasped over and over.

"Fuck," Ron groaned, as her hand tightened around his cock and his teeth bit down on her nipple, tugging on it with his mouth.

It was all too much: his tongue sliding over her breast, nibbling on her creamy flesh; his right hand kneading her bum; his left thrusting into her wet folds. She felt her back arch involuntarily. "I'm…I'm…" and then she was clenching down on his fingers, trapping them inside her as her body was wracked in tremors, and she continued to thrust gently against his hand, hearing the squelch of her fluids where they joined while her fingers worked furiously over him until he followed her in release.

She felt her body lower as Ron finally withdrew his fingers and he pulled her face to his in a searing kiss, one she barely returned as she continued to pant after her climax. She rested her forehead against his, continuing to languidly stroke his cock, pumping him slowly as he softened beneath her touch.

Hermione tried to open her eyes to look at him, to gaze at his beauty, to see him the way only she was allowed, her and no-one, but her eyelids were heavy from exhaustion and they fluttered in the darkness. She nuzzled her nose against his, as he peppered her cheek with tiny kisses. She was so warm; they both were. This was how it was meant be; how she always wanted to feel with Ron. And in her utter contentment she allowed three words to escape her lips and caress his face.

"I love you," she whispered, at long last.

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><p><strong>AN: **The chapter's title comes from the song "Heroes" by David Bowie off his album _'Heroes'_.

If this chapter feels like it's missing some parts or seems like I've skipped over bits, well…I have. Chapter 15 actually covers the exact same time frame only from Ron's point of view and should fill in the gaps from his perspective. And since I left you guys on something of a cliffie, I'll do my best to get chapters 14 and 15 to you as soon as possible.

Now, did that ending make up for some of the icky-ness in the last chapter? I know I liked it (btw, I used the library scene in the film _Atonement _for inspiration, in case anyone finds it familiar). And I know Balls are totally overused in Ron/Hermione stories, but I really do feel it's appropriate and even necessary. They may've missed out on the chance to make up for Slughorn's party in sixth year, but I always thought of the Yule Ball as the true turning point in their relationship and more in-need of rectifying. In fact, I think of this ball as the true turning point in my fic as well.

And finally, for those who don't remember, Tiberius Ogden was a member of the Wizengamot who resigned after Fudge appointed Umbridge High Inquisitor. I wanted someone from canon to head up the Wizengamot and figured he might be willing to return now that Kingsley's making an effort change things.


	15. CH14: There She Goes My Beautiful World

**A/N:** Thanks to all you wonderful reviewers: **Marie, ., Melissa, ObsessedRHShipper, Covered in Bruises, Grown Up Ron, lightpost57, mellypotter1223, saintess7, tabitoo, oscarpaz00, Athenais777, gemsawesome, RyanRow02, PirateKing, JustAnotherGuy100, Romione4ever, Pynki (OMG a review from Pynki! My Heroine!), electra, Vance McGill, CuriousClown, Hilary, BarbaraBriana, DeLoreanDMC-12, bon, Weak4Weasley, avini, Mrs. Smith, Rosie W, ty,** and all those anonymous reviews. I appreciate every one of your reviews, even the ones that send me crying to my beta (kidding btw).

And thanks to all my readers who are sticking with the story and all the wonderful people who have added this story to their Alerts and Favorites.

And finally an extra big thank you to my beta **superfan24 **for her work on this chapter. Not only did she do a fantastic job as usual, but she got it back to me in no time flat.

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><p><strong>Chapter 14: There She Goes My Beautiful World<strong>

_10 May, 1998_

Ron woke up to the sound of chattering voices and wondered exactly what time it was. "Wass goin on?" he asked, yawning.

"Told you he'd eventually wake up if we kept talking," he heard Ginny's voice saying. With great effort Ron opened his eyes to find her and Hermione seated at the end of his bed and Harry sitting on an old crate that had once contained his Martin Miggs comics before he'd sold them last year. It had been painful to part with them but he'd needed the gold for something more important and figured he didn't have much time for leisure reading these days anyway.

Ron rubbed the last bits of sleep from his eyes. "There better be a reason for you three waking a bloke this early when he's supposed to be on holiday."

"It's nearly midday," Ginny informed him. "Honestly, you'd sleep forever without us."

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he said to Hermione, choosing to ignore his sister. Hermione smiled at him and Ron felt quite relieved that things between them hadn't turned pear shaped after he'd lost his stiffie the night before during her ministration. He'd told her it had been Kingsley's visit and the argument over the Malfoy's and the thought of becoming an Auror had completely exhausted him. Since Harry had come up for bed soon after, they hadn't had time to get into things, but it seemed like she'd accepted his excuses. Now she leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek before pulling away, looking slightly abashed. "Is that all I get?" Ron complained good-naturedly.

"It is when we're present," Ginny said hotly.

"Well there's the door," he retorted.

"Honestly, you two," sighed Hermione. "Aren't you even curious as to why we're all waiting for you?"

"Not really," he replied honestly. "Alright there Harry?"

"Not bad," said Harry grinning. "You?"

Ron shrugged. "Could've done with a bit more beauty sleep."

"No amount of beauty sleep is going to help fix _that_," Ginny said, pointing to Ron's face and smirked. He threw a pillow at her and was pleased to see it hit its mark before she could block it.

Now it was Hermione's turn to ignore Ginny. "You've already had quite a lie in today," she told him. "And besides, something's happened."

Instantly Ron was completely alert, his head running over the possibly calamities that could've occurred in the last ten hours. He looked at the three of them each in turn. "Well? Is someone going to tell me?"

"It's nothing bad," Hermione said soothingly, reading his panicked expression.

"Kingsley's been appointed Minister," Harry said. "Officially I mean."

"Well…that was fast." Ron and the three of them beamed back at him.

"It's brilliant," Ginny said. "About time they elected someone worth a damn."

"But of course that means the holiday's over isn't it?" said Hermione

"Whaddya mean?" asked Ron.

"Did you already forget everything that happened last night when Kingsley was here?" teased Ginny. "You three have decision to make."

"Oh, right," said Ron. With Kingsley officially Minister now, he was in position to make the three of them, and Neville, Aurors just as he'd promised. Unfortunately that realization wasn't exactly comforting to Ron. He'd figured he'd have more time to mull things over before he had to make a decision.

"So, what're you three doing?" asked Ginny, never one to beat around the bush.

"I'm doing it," said Harry and the other three turned to look at him. "Kingsley needs help. And I don't know what else I'd do instead. And I don't much fancy going back to Hogwarts.

"But…there's still so much to learn," Hermione insisted. "And you love Hogwarts Harry."

"I'm not saying I won't miss it. I just don't see the point in going back. Plus there's always the chance I'd fail Potions without the Prince's book," Harry joked.

"Of course you wouldn't," said Hermione. "You never needed that book. In fact, it proved just how good you can be in the subject if you bothered to actually _read_. Besides…I'd help you if you needed."

"Cheers Hermione, but no thanks. I'm guessing that means you're going back?"

Hermione looked down at her hands and fidgeted nervously. "Well, I just think I'd like to make sure I'm really prepared. I mean, yes I suppose I might be alright in Defense and Transfiguration and probably Charms. I mean I read all the texts when we were getting ready to leave last summer. But I'm not sure I feel completely prepared in Arithmancy and Herbology and Ancient Runes."

"Didn't you translate that entire book this year?" Harry asked grinning, already knowing she had. "And I don't think Aurors really need to know about Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, or Kingsley wouldn't have offered the job to me and Ron."

"You don't want to be an Auror, do you?" Ginny asked, studying Hermione closely.

"I'm not saying I wouldn't mind. I mean it's a wonderful opportunity to do some good and like Kingsley said, they need all the help they can get right now. But…" Hermione hesitated and worried her bottom lip, the sight of which reassured Ron that there was still life in his pants, before continuing. "I never really fancied being an Auror." She turned to Harry. "I mean I was happy to help you all these years, Harry. And of course I'd do it all again, but I think I'd like the chance to do something else now."

Harry nodded, understanding her feelings. "I suppose we have spent the last few years fighting."

"Exactly," said Hermione, looking relieved that he didn't think her a coward or selfish for wanting to spend her life in a less-dangerous profession. "And honestly there's lots of good I can do elsewhere. Kingsley won't just need help catching the remaining Death Eaters. The entire Ministry is probably severely understaffed at the moment. So many of them were working for Vol-Riddle, or under the Imperius Curse or…"

_Dead _was the unspoken word, and they all knew it. It was hard to think about everyone else who had lost their lives in the war because of Riddle when they'd experienced so many losses themselves so close to home.

Ron had remained silent during the entire conversation. He didn't find either Harry's or Hermione's decisions the least bit surprising. Of course Harry was going to be an Auror. He was one of the most powerful and experienced wizards left. Death Eaters would probably throw down their wands and surrender at just the sight of him.

And he'd known Hermione wasn't going to be an Auror since fifth year. She'd said it herself back then. It had bothered Ron a great deal at the time. He'd worried if he and Harry became Aurors and Hermione went off to…do whatever brilliant thing she did, the three of them would lose touch and their friendship would slowly slip away until one day they would just be strangers, or if they were lucky acquaintances that met up a few times a year to catch up on things and reminisce about the old days and show each other pictures of their kids.

But now he was relieved that she didn't want to be an Auror. He'd seen his heart's greatest desire in the Mirror of Erised a year ago and he'd never forget what it had shown him: Hermione, alive and happy and unharmed. Every day since he'd come back and pulled Harry and the Sword of Gryffindor out of the frozen water he'd worried about what could happen to her. And he really had almost lost her at Malfoy Manor. And when they'd been temporarily separated during the Battle and he'd spotted her dueling Bellatrix, his heart had almost stopped dead from fear.

No he wanted her as far from fighting as possible in the future. She could go work alongside house-elves or become Minister of Magic for all he cared. _As long as she was safe and away from danger._

Of course, he wasn't about to tell _her _that. She'd get indignant and accuse him of treating her like a girl when she didn't need protecting and they'd get in a huge row and she'd probably end up joining the Aurors anyway just to spite him.

_Completely mental_, Ron thought, amused. _Spends two years angry at me for not noticing she's a girl. And then when I treat her like one she acts like I'm doing something wrong. There's no winning with her_.

"Ron?"

He blinked and noticed all three of them were looking at him.

"Okay there mate?" asked Harry. "You had this weird look on your face."

"That means he was thinking about Hermione," said Ginny smartly.

"Was not!" insisted Ron, though he knew his ears were probably bright red. He caught Hermione's eye. She probably knew what—or rather who—he'd been thinking about same as Ginny. Thankfully she seemed pleased about it, though she was obviously doing her best not to let it show.

"What about you Ron?" Hermione asked him, trying to change the subject for both their sakes.

"What about me?" he asked, clueless as to what she was on about.

"She means are you going to take Kingsley's offer or not," explained Ginny.

"Oh."

"Well?" asked Harry when Ron didn't venture more.

"M'not sure," he said honestly.

"Well that's alright. There's no need to rush to a decision," said Hermione. "I mean this is your entire future we're talking about. It's good to take some time to think about it."

"You didn't need to think about it," Ginny pointed out.

"Of course I did. I mean that's why I'm going back to school. That gives me a whole year to think about it. Who knows? Maybe I will be an Auror." Ron and Ginny both snorted. "Alright, probably not," she relented, sending the other three into fits of laughter.

When they all finally calmed down, Ginny informed Ron that he better get up if he didn't want to miss lunch as well as breakfast and left the room, followed by Harry and Hermione after Ron told them he'd be down soon. He just needed a minute to…take care of the situation under his sheets. He'd thought about trying to catch Hermione's eye as she left, hoping they could solve his problem together. But she was a bit put out after being laughed at and he decided now wasn't the time to ask her for a little slap and tickle.

With a wave of his wand, the door to his bedroom was closed and locked and Ron set to work on the task at hand.

...

After his morning (technically afternoon) wank and a spot of lunch courtesy of Fleur, Hermione went off to practice with her wand, quite jubilant at its return. Ginny went with her, hoping to convince Hermione to show her some of the enchantments and hexes she'd learned in preparation for hunting Horcruxes. Harry and Ron, feeling no desire to engage in what they both considered to be 'work,' declined the offer to join them.

After the girls left, Ron turned to Harry.

"Listen I was thinking…want to go see Kingsley?"

"Sure. Might be busy though. First day as Minister and all."

"He's been Minister for a week now. This just made things official. Besides, you're Harry Potter."

"And you're Ron Weasley," Harry returned smartly.

Ron gave an exaggerated groan. "I just mean he won't be too busy to see _you_. Don't you want to tell him you've decided?" Harry nodded and they quickly cleaned their dirty dishes.

"You've decided too then?" Harry asked, not sounding the least bit surprised as they headed out of the Burrow and toward the edge of the anti-Apparition wards.

"Yup."

"Do you want to—"

"Not really," Ron cut him off. He did want to risk telling Harry now on the chance his friend might try to change his mind.

"Right," said Harry, letting the matter drop. "Let's go."

As Harry had anticipated, the Ministry was bustling with activity on Kingsley's first day as Minister of Magic and it took half an hour before they got inside and managed to find someone who could help them. But as Ron had anticipated, as soon as the secretary realized Harry Potter was here to see the Minister, they found themselves rushed into a conference room with a promise that Kingsley would be with them as soon as he finished his Floo-call with the Italian Minister of Magic.

They only waited five minutes before Kingsley entered the room, looking like he'd just been through another battle. "Harry, Ron. Thank Merlin for you two. Any excuse to escape the hoards for a moment," he told them, looking relieved to see them. "I tell you, not even one day in and already I find myself wanting to be back in the Auror Office. Just need to find someone thick enough to want to take this job off my hands."

"But there's not, right?" asked Harry anxiously. He obviously didn't like the idea of someone else replacing Kingsley anytime soon and Ron couldn't help but agree with the sentiment.

"No, not at the moment," said Kingsley, smiling. "So what can I for you two?"

"Well actually, it's about the Auror Office," said Ron hesitantly.

"Ah. Made your decisions already have you? I've got a letter to send to Neville about the offer if I ever find the time to get it to the owlry to send it."

"Yes, we have," said Harry. "I think…I'd like to take the job, Sir."

"Kingsley, Harry. Always Kingsley. And good on you. Glad to have you aboard. And Ron?"

"I've, err, thought about the offer, yea."

"And your decision?"

"Well…" suddenly Ron wished he hadn't asked Harry along. But he knew Harry deserved to know first—even more than Hermione—since he was about to be going back into the thick of it…and by himself for the first time. "Not to seem ungrateful and all, but I don't think I'm quite cut out to be an Auror."

Kingsley seemed to have expected this. "Remember I've heard you three recount the last year of your lives. I know what you had to deal with, what you've done already. So selling yourself short won't work with me. Besides, I've told you it wouldn't happen right away. Even with my pushing you through, it'll take a while to get you approved and you'd both have a few months of training before we start sending you out into the field—"

"It's not that," Ron interrupted, deciding to speak the truth. He owed it to Harry, to Kingsley, and most importantly to himself. "Well, not just that. One thing I learned this year is how hard it is to protect everyone, to save everyone. I couldn't do it, Harry couldn't do it. Even Dumbledore…I…I know it's a bit selfish, but right now I need to focus on protecting those closest to me, first. My family…Mum…George…"

As he spoke, Ron lowered his eyes from Kingsley's face, focusing on the tiled floor. He didn't want Kingsley to think him a coward, to fail to live up to Fred's example as a sacrifice for others. He waited for a reprimand, but none was forthcoming. As the awkward silence grew, Ron finally looked up to see a look of admiration on the older man's face.

"Arthur should be proud to have raised a son such as you. You do your brother's memory proud."

Ron blinked, and felt his vision blur with moisture. He'd never expected to receive such a compliment. This wasn't like the praise from his mother; she was his mum, she'd be proud of him even if he scored Trolls on all of his O.W.L.'s. Or from Dumbledore, who of course had seen the best in everyone. Or even Harry, who seemed to pull the best out of everyone, Ron included, and deservedly shared in their accomplishments. In fact, the only comparable feeling he could think of was Hermione embracing him tightly outside the Room of Requirement right before their lips touched for the first time.

Ron quickly pushed that thought to the back of his mind as this was not the place to be thinking about that; as he'd learned this morning, such thoughts were dangerous when he was among company. "Thank you sir," he finally managed, running a sleeve across his face quickly.

"Just so you know," Kingsley said, bringing Ron's focus back to him, "that's a standing offer. So if you ever feel circumstances have changed, just let me know. Wish we had a whole department of you at the Ministry. Both of you."

Ron felt like grinning like an idiot but managed to restrain himself. "Actually, there's something else. I wanted to ask you about the arrangements for me and Hermione to go find her parents—"

"Everything's been arranged," Kingsley reassured him. He took out a piece of parchment and scribbled something down before handing it to Ron. "That's the location of the Portkey you'll be taking and the time it's set to leave. I've talked to the Australian Ministry and they should have two Aurors waiting to meet you when you arrive. They'll set you up with accommodations while you look for Hermione's parents. I've also arranged an account to cover any expenses you acquire while you search, all covered by the Ministry. It's the very least we can do for you after all."

"Thanks," said Ron. "Hermione will be happy when I tell her."

"So that's it then?" said Harry.

Kingsley nodded. "I think that covers it, unless either of you have anything else?" Both boys shook their heads. "Well then, I'm afraid I have to get back to business." He shook both their hands. "I just want to thank you both again. Harry, we'll be in touch. Ron, good luck to you and Hermione."

Harry and Ron headed back out of the Ministry.

"So that's it then?" Harry asked.

"That's it," Ron agreed.

"You sure this is what you want?"

Ron knew Harry thought he was being noble, something Harry knew all too well, by turning down Kingsley's offer. He also knew how much Ron wanted to be an Auror, and how much he didn't want to be seen as abandoning Harry _again_. "No. But you heard Kingsley. I can always change my mind."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it's just…it might not be so easy down the line. I mean what are you going to do instead? Go back to Hogwarts?"

He hadn't thought much past the talk he'd just had with Kingsley. He'd only known becoming an Auror wasn't in the cards for him, at least not at the moment. And a part of Ron did want to go back. Not for lessons, of course, but because Hermione would be going back. He just wasn't sure if that was a good enough reason. "I haven't sorted the rest of it out yet," he said honestly before changing the subject to talk about Neville, both boys wondering if he would accept the offer or not.

They Apparated back to Ottery St. Catchpole and were tromping across the field surrounding the Burrow when they saw four figures emerge from the house and come running toward them.

In the lead was Percy followed closely by Bill, Hermione and Ginny. As they grew closer, the latter three slowed down and began shouting at them, demanding where they'd been, how they could've left without telling anyone, saying they'd been worried sick for the past two hours. But Percy didn't say anything, and didn't stop running until he'd thrown himself on Ron, embracing his brother and pulling Harry into the one-sided hug.

"Percy, get off," Ron said, trying and failing to get his brother to release his death grip.

"You're alright," Percy said, his voice sounding almost broken, ignoring Ron's protests and the shouts from the others. "Oh thank Merlin, you're alright. We didn't know what happened to you. I found Hermione and Ginny outside and they told me they hadn't seen either of you since lunch. We looked everywhere…"

"We're fine Perce. We just went to see Kingsley," Ron told him.

"And you couldn't tell someone before you left?" asked Hermione, her voice shrill with concern and anger. "What made you think it'd be alright to just disappear after the last year."

Ron looked at her, feeling quite selfish. He'd assumed they could slip away for a bit with no one being the wiser when he should've known better.

Finally Percy released the both of them. "Why'd you need to see Kingsley?" Bill asked, having calmed the most out of any of them now that he knew they hadn't been in any danger. "He was just here last night."

"He asked us to join the Aurors," said Ron, looking at Harry who seemed to have decided it wasn't his place to explain things to Ron's family. He could only hope Hermione and Ginny would lay into his friend later after Percy and Bill had left. "We just wanted to give him our answers."

"What did you say?" asked Ginny, Percy and Hermione all at once.

"I said no," Ron informed them and saw relief flash across the faces of his brother and Hermione, though the expression on Ginny's was indecipherable. "But Harry's gonna do it."

Of course Hermione and Ginny already knew what Harry's answer had been, but he saw both Bill and Percy grimace. "Are you sure Harry?" asked Bill, still doing his best to sound calm. "I know you're aware of what you're getting yourself into and that you're prepared for it, but you shouldn't feel like you have to."

"I don't," said Harry. "I mean I do. I mean, I just…" He looked to Ron for help, but Ron only shrugged, somewhat enjoying seeing his mate squirm to explain himself. "Look, this is something I wanted even before I heard the prophecy, before I knew I had to be the one to finish Riddle. There isn't anything else I'd want to do, nothing else I think I could do."

"Mum's going to throw a fit," said Bill knowingly.

"Like she'd even notice at the moment," said Ginny, speaking the truth that made the rest of them wince. "What? We all know she's not aware of anything except that Fred's not…not here. It's Dad you'll have to talk to," she told Harry.

Harry nodded, looking relieved. He knew just as Ron did that Mr. Weasley trusted all his children, Harry included, to follow their beliefs and wouldn't stand in their way.

"He doesn't know we left, does he?" asked Ron.

"No," said Percy sharply. "We didn't want to worry him until we knew more. He doesn't need any more stress at the moment and if he'd found out the two of you had done something so stupid—"

"That's enough Percy," said Bill, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. "They were just at the Ministry, which is probably the safest place they could be at the moment. So there's no sense in staying all worked up."

This seemed to settle the matter and the group made their way back to the house. Ron caught Hermione's eye and the pair fell behind the others to walk together where they could speak privately.

"You really told Kingsley you weren't going to do it?" she asked, sounding like she needed Ron to confirm his decision a second time before she could really believe it.

"Yeah, I did," he said and she couldn't help but beam at him, looking both relieved and excited. For a moment Ron recalled how supportive she'd been earlier that morning when he'd said he'd needed time to think about it. Apparently it hadn't really mattered to her how long it took, as long as he made the decision she wanted him to make in the end, and for a moment he almost wished he'd accepted Kingsley's offer just to see how she would've reacted. But the feeling quickly passed.

"Oh Ron. I know a part of you wanted to take it, but…but I think this is for the best. There're so many things you could do, so many things you're good at. And now we can finish up at Hogwarts together."

"Yeah," said Ron as Hermione took his hand, though the feeling of her small fingers curling around his and squeezing tight didn't fill him with the tingling mixture of excitement and comfort it usually did.

"It'll be nice just having a normal year for once won't it?" Hermione asked. Ron only nodded. "Of course, it won't be exactly normal, without Harry there, will it? Oh, Ron, I'm going to worry about him so much, not being able to see him every day to make sure he's alright. And it'll be hard on Ginny to be apart from him again. We'll have to make sure to watch out for her and spend time with her."

There was almost something wrong about Hermione telling him to keep an eye on Ginny. He didn't need her to remind him that it was his job to look out for his family. Didn't his decision to turn down the offer to become an Auror prove he was doing that all on his own? Besides, he knew how strong Ginny was. He probably knew that better than anyone, even Harry. She would miss him, but she wasn't the type to sit around pining away after a boy. She'd proved that much when she dated Corner and Dean, much to Ron's displeasure.

He decided to change the subject. "I talked to Kingsley about your parents. Everything's set for Thursday." He went on to explain about the preparations that had been made and gave her the parchment Kingsley had given him, knowing he was less likely to misplace it. Thankfully the excitement and relief she expressed at the prospect of seeing her parents again was much more enjoyable than when she'd expressed those same sentiments over his decision. And just before they followed everyone else inside the Burrow he pulled her to him in a tender embrace and kissed her hair, happy that at least one of them had the chance to mend their family.

_13 May, 1998_

Over the next few days, Ron did something he usually avoided as much as possible; he thought. Yes, turning down Kingsley's offer still seemed like the right decision, but it wouldn't matter if he continued to waste time the way he had been since Fred's funeral. No longer did he spend the days sleeping late or flying with Harry and Ginny or sitting quietly with Hermione.

He started getting up early in the morning, a change Harry didn't seem to appreciate as the state of Ron's room made getting ready a rather noisy affair. Ron looked for ways to help those around him pick up the slack in the wake of his Mum's new, reclusive lifestyle. He tried helping Fleur prepare the family's meals, but always felt like he was more a hindrance than a help considering his shoddy spellwork. But Fleur never complained, and remained patient with him as she explained that not everyone liked it when their corned beef tasted more like salt than meet. She did however seem to enjoy his company, a sentiment Ron returned now that he could finally be around her without making a fool of himself.

He tried helping Bill with things like the wash and cleaning, but couldn't quite get the hang of it despite his best efforts. He didn't have much practice with household spells and had never picked up on things as quick as Hermione. Thankfully, Bill was just as patient as his wife.

Most of all though, he simply tried to spend time with his Mum and George. His Dad had taken to spending hours every day in his bedroom with Ron's Mum since Fred's funeral. He tried talking to her, sometimes trying to reason with her that she couldn't give up on life because she'd lost her son, other times chatting to her about the most normal of things like the chickens or gnomes in the yard or telling her about his latest theory on how airplanes worked, simply to try and get a reaction out of her.

Ron also started to join him, sitting with his mum for hours at a time. His dad told him it wasn't important what he said, or even if he said anything at all. They just needed to remind her that they were there and that they still loved her and needed her. And that's mostly what he did. He never said much. He didn't think there was anything he could say to make her feel better, and it just seemed wrong to talk about other things to make her forget about Fred, even for a moment. Yes, he didn't like the way she would sit there in bed, looking lifeless as she stared at the walls, the way her hand didn't squeeze back when he took it in an attempt to connect with her. But who was he to decide how she should feel or when, or even if, she would ever be normal again. Ron certainly didn't want to forget about Fred. He just didn't want her to look so heartbroken.

Dealing with George was easier in a way. Ron had never lost a child and so couldn't understand what his Mum was going through. But he had lost a brother, the same as George. No, it hadn't been _his_ twin that had died, but he didn't think he missed Fred any less than George did. Even if the twins had shared their special bond, George hadn't loved Fred more than the rest of them.

And it was easier to talk to him, to try and joke with George and try and get him to laugh or smile or just stop looking like he didn't care about _anything _anymore. George was supposed to be happy, was supposed to laugh and smile and make inappropriate comments when Percy's chair made a rather undignified noise when he sat down for supper.

Of course it didn't do any good. George ignored him the same as his mum. The only thing he ever said when Ron would visit him in his room was to 'go away.' And a few times Ron had yelled at him, started shouting in frustration, trying desperately to get a reaction. But then he'd calm down and apologize, which was always excruciating because he'd never apologized to the twins for anything before in his life and it just felt _wrong _to not hear George tease him about it, and finally leave the room, only to come back a few hours later and try again.

The night after he and Harry visited the Ministry Ron had been sitting downstairs debating whether to give talking to George another try before bed when he saw the brother in question padding his way across the living room and slip out the front door. He'd been sitting in the dark so George hadn't seen him, but was too confused by the situation to say anything.

After half an hour Percy came down and joined him. "He's left again, hasn't he?" he asked Ron

"You knew?" Ron asked.

Percy nodded. "He's been sneaking out almost every night since the funeral."

"Where does he go?"

"I'm not quite sure. That day he left, after he destroyed the clock, Lee told me Alicia found him in the Muggle pub in the village. The first time I woke up and found him gone that was the first place I checked, but he wasn't there. Bill and I have gone looking for him a few times. Bill found him in another pub a few villages over once and brought him home, but he must find a different one every time."

"Should we go after him?" Ron asked.

Percy shook his head. "Every time we do, the next time he goes out he goes somewhere further away. Going after him will just chase him away."

Ron said nothing. He didn't like it, but he also didn't see how they could stop George from leaving other than locking him in his room and taking his wand away. And a part of Ron was glad George was leaving the house. He hardly left his room these days, even to eat or bathe. He would've preferred George to be doing something other than drinking his pain away, but at least it was a sign that he still felt _something._

The two of them had waited up for an hour before Percy finally sent Ron to bed after catching him nodding off several times in his chair. The following evening Ron had waited up for George to slip out and had followed him. He'd spent hours Apparating and Disapparating to all the Muggle villages in Devon, visiting the pubs looking for George. But Percy must have been right as he found no sign of George.

So Ron had decided he needed to do something more. Sure, there really wasn't anything wrong with what George was doing, but it couldn't go on forever. And that was when Ron had one of his very rare brilliant ideas.

He'd returned to the Burrow and searched George's empty room until he'd finally found the key to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. George loved that shop; it had been his and Fred's dream since they were kids, and they'd only had it for little over a year before the war had forced them to close up shop so they could help with the Order. It would be the perfect distraction for George because it wouldn't be a distraction at all. Opening the shop and getting it running again was what he wanted to do, what he needed to do. He just needed Ron to remind him first.

Of course, this was easier said than done. All yesterday Ron had tried to think his plan through, something he and Harry rarely ever did. That's what they had Hermione for, and a part of him wanted desperately to go and ask for her opinion and her help. But he knew that he couldn't, not this time.

From the moment he'd come up with the plan, a part of Ron had known that it wasn't something he could accomplish in a day or a week or even a month. Even without seeing the shop, he knew it'd be a total disaster, and he wanted everything to be in-order before he told George about it so there wouldn't be any excuse of 'It's too much work' to shoot down the idea. And even if Ron somehow did manage to whip the place into shape, there was no guarantee that George would be ready to come back right away. He was sure the place would be filled with memories of Fred, memories only the two of them would have shared in and been able to understand. No, if this was going to happen, Ron had to be prepared to stick with it in the long-run. He couldn't just give up when things got too difficult the way he'd tried to give up on Quidditch, the way he'd given up on Harry in the tent.

It was this last thought, that had made Ron realize that in order to help George, there would be sacrifices beyond turning down the chance to become an Auror. And last night, he'd found the broken locket in its hiding place and slipped it beneath his pillow before bed. It didn't do anything, though when the ghoul in the attic refrained from banging on the pipes and the rest of the house was quiet, Ron could still hear Riddle's voice in his veins, hissing secrets to his heart. Harry and Hermione would probably think him a nutter for keeping it, let alone sleeping with the thing, which was why he hadn't told him. But it didn't matter what they'd think. It was a symbol of his worst, most shameful moment, a reminder of who he never wanted to be again.

And when he'd gotten up this morning, he'd stowed it away before Harry even began to stir, determined in the path before him…no matter how much he didn't want to take it. After all, if Harry could willingly walk to his death, the sacrifice Ron had to make was nothing in comparison. The only problem was he wouldn't be the only one making it.

After breakfast and an hour spent sitting with Ginny visiting his Mum, the two youngest Weasleys went and found Harry and Hermione who had just returned from a trip to Diagon Alley to purchase some of the books Hermione thought would be most useful in getting him ready for his pending Auror-training. After all, Harry was already out one year of schooling and the training Kinsley had talked about would be condensing several years of studies into a few months. Ron almost pitied his mate for being forced to study during the summer, but ultimately agreed with Hermione that if Harry was going to be an Auror, a little extra book-learning wouldn't hurt; none of them liked the that Harry could one-day find himself in a situation he wasn't prepared to handle, not when none of them would be there to help him.

As Ron sat down at the kitchen table across from her, Hermione gave him a brief smile before continuing with her explanation of anti-Apparition spells. Since coming to his decision about Auror training, he hadn't spent much time with her, neglecting her in-favor of spending time with his Mum or George or helping Bill, Fleur and Percy around the house. He knew she would've joined him in these tasks if asked, but it wasn't her place. As much as all the Weasleys loved Hermione, they weren't her family. She still had one of her own waiting out there, even if they didn't remember her.

He also knew that Hermione was the one thing that could make him forget that everything was still a mess. He knew how easy it was to get lost in her kisses, to make jokes just to hear the sound of her laughter instead of working to actually fix things. He knew she'd noticed that he avoided spending any time alone with her, but he believed now was not the time for explanations

The four of them sat there for some time while Hermione talked on excitedly about this spell or that until Ron noticed Harry's expression and guessed he'd stopped listening to her some time ago.

Ron stood up from the table. "C'mon Hermione. I think Harry's had enough for his first lesson in Auror training," he said, offering her his hand.

For a moment she looked like she might balk at the offer, offended at the suggestion that she could be boring the others. But she accepted, her desire to spend time with Ron too great to pass up the first opportunity to do so in days and he lead her up to his room and sat them both down on the bed.

He took his first good look at her in days. God, she was beautiful with those big doe eyes that, despite all the wisdom they contained, always seemed so innocent with curiosity. And her hair which she'd tried to tie back today, exposing her slender neck, which he now knew to be covered with an invisible soft layer of hair that tickled his nose when he kissed it. And her nose.

He'd never told anyone this, but her nose had always been his favorite physical feature of Hermione's. Well after her tits and bum of course, but those really weren't fair comparisons. It was just she'd changed so much since they'd first met. Her teeth were smaller, her lips fuller, her legs longer and hips wider. Even her eyes had a certain hardness about them now, gained from the horrors they'd witnessed over the years. But her nose was exactly the same as he remembered it that day on the Hogwarts Express, still small and rounded, still held a bit more loftily than the average person, still cute as a button. Yes, at times it wrinkled in disgust or scrunched when she was deep in thought, but it always returned to the way it was supposed to be after the problem was solved.

"Hermione I love you." The words slipped out much more easily than he had ever imagined. He hadn't bumbled them, or rambled on forever before getting to his point, and Ron felt rather proud of himself. Hermione looked surprised for a moment before starting to laugh in a beautiful, though under the circumstances somewhat cruel, manner.

She found this funny? Found the idea that he loved her something to laugh at? Some of his anguish must have shown on his face because Hermione stopped laughing, though she could not remove the biggest grin he'd ever seen on her. She took his face in her hands and pulled him down to her so she could smother his lips with kisses. "No, you silly boy. No." She was practically giggling as she continued kissing him. It was wonderful having her lips attacking him like that, so unconcerned about whether her kisses landed on his lips or his chin or his cheeks as she proceeded to leave no inch of his face untouched, but that didn't mean it was the response he'd been looking for either. And finally his mind won over his body and he pushed her away gently.

"Hermione," Ron started to protest.

"Sorry," Hermione giggled again, reaching up to run her thumb along Ron's bottom lip. Why was she still laughing? "I couldn't help myself."

She was moving to kiss him again, her hand having moved behind his ear where it now played with his hair. Ron was shutting his eyes and leaning in as well when he once again remembered himself. He drew back, grasping Hermione's wrist and removing it from his ear. The witch had far too much control over him for Ron's liking. "Hermione—"

"I'm sorry," she said again, still playful but finally sounding a little more serious. "I didn't mean to laugh. It's just…is that why you've been acting so strange the last few days?"

So she definitely _had_ noticed. Of course she'd noticed. She was a bloody genius after all, and he was, well, _not_. He couldn't hide anything from her at this point. What was the point of even trying? Of course just because she could tell when he was acting suspicious didn't mean she was a mind reader. And now that she'd incorrectly inferred the reason for his behavior, having to correct her seemed even more dreadful than it had before.

"Not exactly," he told her.

"Oh? So there's something else you've been hiding?" she asked seductively. He was still holding on to her wrist and when she pulled her arm back behind her, he stumbled forward so they were once again pressed together. Merlin she wasn't making this easy.

"Sort of. There's something I need to tell you."

"Hmm?" Her other arm was around his neck, pulling his face closer to her and the sound that came out of her mouth was close to a moan. She nibbled on his earlobe and he suppressed a shudder. "Something else besides the fact that you love me?"

Ron moaned as he felt her warm breath on his skin, and his resolve wavered. He tilted his head back as Hermione began attacking his neck with tongue and teeth, his hand landing on her thigh and squeezing her leg to relieve a bit of the tension he was feeling. She moved her lips to his jaw and then his mouth as she delivered soft, teasing kisses.

"I thought" _kiss_ "you had" _kiss_ "something to" _kiss_ "tell me. Or maybe" _kiss _"you'd rather" _kiss_ "me tell you" _kiss _"something."

She pulled back to look at him, and he could see what she was about to say in her eyes, knew he was about to hear that she returned his love, as impossible at that seemed. "Hermione wait," he said quickly. She looked at him confused, as if wondering why he could possibly be stopping _this _from happening. "Before you say anything, I have to tell you something else."

"Okay. What?"

"I can't go with you to Australia." Ron had whispered the words, but he may as well have shouted them as everything else in the world seemed to go silent.

"What?" Hermione asked, sounding confused, like she thought she'd misheard him

"I don't think I can go with you to Australia."

"What?" She was looking at him like she expected the punch line of the joke to follow.

"I just don't think I can leave right now, with George and…and Mum…"

"What?" She was suddenly on the verge of tears now that she realized his words were no joke.

"It's just Dad's going to be busy helping Kingsley, and Bill and Fleur are leaving soon, and I still don't know if Ginny and Harry are alright and I think I need to be here to help everyone and—"

"What?" she said for a fourth time. The word came out sounding like mush. Hermione was sobbing, her whole body shaking with each breath, but still her eyes remained locked with his, refusing to look away

"Damn it, will you stop saying that?" Ron's voice was still low, but he couldn't keep a bit of edge from seeing through.

Apparently this was just enough to remind Hermione that her vocabulary wasn't restricted to a single word and she exploded. "I won't! I won't and I'll keep asking until you change your answer to something else!"

For one sickening moment, Ron felt like laughing. Hermione was doing her best to intimidate him as usual, but it was very hard to be scary when you hiccupped in the middle of every other word and your face was scrunched up and completely red from crying. But instead, he put his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, where she broke down completely.

He wanted to take his words back, wanted to tell her that he would go with her, that he'd never leave her again for more than a minute for the rest of their lives. He'd say anything to take those tears away. But he also knew he couldn't lie.

"I…I need to make it up to everyone. I owe Bill so much for taking me in when I left, and Ginny. And Dad needs help and Percy can't do everything. And George…George needs _someone_ with Fred gone."

"Well then I'll stay. I'll stay too," he heard Hermione say, her words muffled by her tears and his shirt. Ron felt a bit like crying himself at the offer. Of course she'd say such a thing. This was _Hermione_ he was talking to. She'd _Obliviated_ her parents and sent them halfway round the world so she could help Harry, had stayed in the tent that rainy October night when Ron had left, and stood up for house elves when no one else in the wizarding world gave a damn about them. She was the most selfless person he knew.

Which was why, as much as he wanted her there with him, she couldn't stay. "Hermione, you can't," Ron explained. "Your parents…"

"They don't know. They don't even know I exist." Her words were becoming less watery, her body wracked with sobs less frequently as her determination grew and she pulled back from him to look him in the face. "It won't matter to them if I have to wait a while longer."

"It won't matter to them, but it does to _you_, Hermione. I know how much you miss them, how much you're worried about them. It's what you do and you won't be able to stop until you find them and bring them back."

"But I've already waited all this time," she reasoned. "I can wait a little—"

"You shouldn't have to. And I don't want you to," Ron said, determined. Merlin, it was killing him to do this, and her begging him to let her stay was making everything so much worse. Didn't she know he was trying to do what was best for her by making her go? Sure, she'd been happy enough those few days after the funeral when nothing else had existed but the two of them. But sooner or later, he knew she'd be hit with the same guilt and remorse he had been, and she'd feel terrible for neglecting her parents for his sake the way he'd neglected his family for hers. "And it might not be just a 'little while' if you waited. I don't think George and Mum are going to be better in a week or two."

"I didn't mean it like that. I just thought…I wanted…you promised you'd go with me."

Ron's heart ached. Yes he'd promised her, just as they'd both promised to stick by Harry in the tent. And here he was, breaking his word once again. "I know. I know I did, and I'm…I'm sorry. If there was another way—"

"There is," Hermione protested. She reached up and cupped his face. "I understand why you can't go now, with George and your Mum. I really do. But if we just told Kingsley we weren't ready yet…Or, or maybe he could send someone—"

"No, Hermione. You know that wouldn't work. You…you have to go. And I can't go with you. I won't be responsible for keeping you away from them. I know if there was a way to bring Fred back, you wouldn't ask me to wait to do it."

She didn't say anything, only looked at him for a moment, seeing the resolve in his features, before fleeing the room.

...

The rest of the day passed miserably. Hermione spent most of it in Ginny's room packing for her trip and every time he looked in on her or when she emerged, she refused to even look at him. Harry and Ginny both noticed something was wrong but neither said anything, probably assuming it was just another of their typical fights and deciding to stay out of it. Ron for his part was torn. He was afraid that if he talked to her, if he tried to explain himself again, it would get Hermione hopes up that she could change her mind. And he didn't think he could stand to disappoint her anymore than he already had. But he also didn't want them to part on such bad terms. It could take days, even weeks to find her parents and bring them back, and he feared their relationship was still too new, too fragile to withstand that much time apart if Hermione left still hating him for breaking his promise.

After brushing his teeth, Ron went to Ginny's room to speak with her. It was his last chance as her Portkey was set to leave in less than nine hours and Hermione would probably be going to bed soon. He didn't know what he would say, but he figured he couldn't possibly make things worse than they already were. Unfortunately he found the room empty not only of Hermione, but Ginny as well. He went searching and found his sister and Harry playing a game of chess in the living room.

"Have either of you seen Hermione?" he asked. He briefly wondered if she'd told their friends about his decision not to accompany her, but dismissed the idea as Ginny would probably be biting his head off if she knew.

"Lost her, have you?" Ginny said, poking fun at him.

"Haven't seen her mate," said Harry, at least attempting to be helpful, though Ron thought he saw a smirk on his friends face and wondered what sort of mischief the two of them could possibly be up to.

"Right," said Ron. After checking the rest of the house, the shed, the chicken coop and the field surrounding the Burrow, he came to the conclusion that where Hermione was, she didn't want him to find her. He marched exhausted up the stairs to his room, determined that if it came down to it, he'd be waiting to talk to her at the Portkey in the morning.

However, when he opened the door, he found his plan was completely unnecessary as Hermione was there, sitting on his bed. Actually, she was sitting _in _his bed, with the sheets pulled up around her so he could only see her head, arms and torso and the baggy nightshirt that covered her.

"Hi," she said in a voice Ron had never heard her use before. It wasn't sad or angry or serious or anything. He didn't know what it meant.

"Hey," he returned, shutting his door behind him and hoping Ginny kept Harry distracted long enough for the two of them to talk. "What are you doing up here?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Yeah," he said guiltily. "Look, Hermione I—"

She held up a hand. "Please, don't. Don't say anything unless you've changed your mind. You haven't, have you?" she said, a bit of hope creeping into her voice.

"I can't," Ron said, wishing he could.

"Then let's not talk about it."

"What are you doing up here if you don't want to talk?"

"I thought we could sleep…I thought I could maybe stay here tonight. With you."

"Oh."

"I don't have to if you don't want me here," Hermione said, starting to pull the sheets down in order to get up and leave.

"No!" Ron shouted out. "Of course I do. I do want you. To stay, I mean."

"Then come on," she said, patting the spot next to her in his small bed.

"Right," he said, moving toward the bed.

"Won't you be hot in all that?" Hermione asked, looking at his pajamas. He looked at her and saw that she was biting her lip. He was about to tell her he didn't care, that if he got hot at night, he just stripped in bed or threw the bedding off until he cooled own. But he didn't want to argue with her, even if it was over something as simple as sleepwear. Not now, when she was waiting for him in his bed. Not tonight, when she was leaving in the morning. It was a miracle she was even here, willing to talk to him, and he wasn't going to risk bringing it to an end.

He pulled off his pajamas leaving him in nothing but his pants and put out the light before climbing into bed. Ron lay down beside Hermione who immediately snuggled against him, her head resting on his chest and her bare legs twining with his.

"You want to go with me, don't you?" he heard her ask quietly after a moment.

Ron hesitated. This was what he'd feared, the moment where he'd have to choose between telling her the truth and risk getting her hopes up one last time or lying to help convince her to go. "It's just—" he began before she interrupted him with a finger to his lips.

"I know," she said. "Sorry, for bringing it up."

Thankful he didn't have to say more, Ron picked up her hand and brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles sweetly. He felt her head shift and he looked over to see her big eyes staring at him. He knew what she wanted, what he wanted. And he pulled her to his face and kissed her goodnight.

He was about to let her go and settle in to sleep when she pushed her lips fiercely against his own, kissing him again and again, sucking on his lip, sucking the air right out of his lungs each time she inhaled. She moved her body until she was laying completely on top of him, her legs splayed to each side and he discovered she was wearing absolutely nothing besides the nightshirt.

"Show me," he heard her whisper between kisses.

"What?"

"If you love me, then show me."

And then she sat up and pulled off her shirt, bearing herself to him. He marveled at her body, barely visible in the dark, at her complete lack of hesitation or shyness that usually accompanied these intimate moments between them. And before he could say anything she was pressing herself against him, her lips once more on his, and the world beyond the two of them was lost to Ron.

It was like she had a thousand hands the way she seemed to be touching him everywhere, each soft brush or rake of her fingernails setting off small explosions of goose pimples on his skin. He could feel her hard nipples on his chest as she rubbed against him, her breasts pressed flat beneath the weight of her body.

God he could feel the heat coming from between her legs, feel the moisture already beginning to gather. He wrapped an arm around her and flipped her before he descended on her once more like fire, fighting his instinct to rush ahead as he did his best to worship her body slowly. Who knew when they'd be like this again? The agony from their lack of contact over the last few days would be nothing if she was gone for weeks in Australia.

He bit her throat and heard a whimper escape her. He rubbed one of her nipples between his fingers, pinching and pulling just enough, the way he'd found made her squirm beneath him. She pulled his face back to her and shoved her tongue down his throat, practically choking him with it as she reached deeper and deeper inside him. He felt her cool hands on his waist and felt shivers run down his spine. She was sliding his shorts down his bum, pulling them off with desperate fingers as she flipped him onto his back so she could slide them the rest of the way down his legs before settling on top of him again.

Now they were pressed flush against one another in a way they'd never been before. Always, at least one of them had kept some barrier of clothing between their bodies, neither of them daring to risk the excitement of being completely naked with one-another. But now her legs were astride his and he could feel her lips sliding over his cock, feeling her slickness as she rocked against him gently. It was doubly strange, to not only feel her like this for the first time, but because there was _nothing _between them.

"You…you shaved," he gasped, not sure why it was important enough to mention.

"I thought I'd try it," she said, and he could feel her grinning wickedly against his lips as his fingers buried themselves in his hair, trying to push her impossibly closer. "Do you like it?"

Honestly he didn't care; he wanted her any way he could have her. The only thing he thought about was the realization that's she'd clearly planned things to end up like _this _from the start. But in answer he kissed her again.

God it wasn't just his cock that was soaked; his whole body was drenched in sweat from their movements even though they could've only been going at it for a few minutes and Hermione had been the one so far to do most of the work. She was slick and clammy against him, and each time she rubbed her folds across his cock, he could feel them parting, enveloping him more and more without actually letting him further inside. Ron was sure he'd never been harder in his entire life and he thrust his hips upward and was rewarded with a gasp from Hermione. He moaned, feeling like he was about to cum. He'd never felt anything so amazing and they hadn't even done anything yet. He flipped them again, and pulled back a moment to just look at her and marvel at her perfection, needing a moment to calm himself.

Apparently Hermione wasn't going to give him that moment. Her hand slid down his chest to grasp his cock, stroking him as her other hand reached behind his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. He felt her legs wrap around him, dragging him closer and felt her hand guide him until the head of his cock was pressed against her folds. And then she was sliding him inside her, enveloping the head with her heat and wetness and Ron wondered if heaven could feel even half as wonderful and couldn't help but push himself deeper inside her.

And then she flinched. Of course. She'd never done this before—neither of them had—and it was going to be uncomfortable. But the look on her face, the wince of pain and fear caused Ron to pull back.

"Don't," pleaded Hermione, her legs tightening around him, not permitting his escape. "Please."

"Hermione it's going to hurt. I…I don't want—"

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she cried. There were tears in her eyes and he knew they had nothing to do with her physical pain. "Please, I want this. It'll be something for us to hold on to while we're apart."

He looked at her, suddenly feeling uncertain in their actions. Something had been off about Hermione since he'd found her waiting for him. He wanted this, wanted to make love to her almost as much as he wanted to go with her in the morning, wanted it so much that it hurt. But did he want it like this?

Did she even want this, or was she only doing it because she was leaving? Hadn't Lavender almost said the exact same thing the one time they'd come close to shagging? It had been the night before they left for Christmas and he hadn't been paying Lavender much attention as he'd been consumed with thoughts of Hermione and McLaggen together at Slughorn's party. She'd pulled him out of Gryffindor tower and into an empty room on the fourth floor and thrown herself at him, telling him she wanted to give herself to him.

_Something to remember me by_. That's what Lavender had told him, before Ron insisted he wanted to wait a bit longer. Hermione's words just now were not so different, and he wondered if the motives behind her actions were so different either.

Because he didn't want her to think sleeping with him as a mistake, something she rushed into before she was ready, simply because she thought it was the only way to keep him interested. He couldn't bear it if he ever found out she'd only slept with him because she felt that was the only way to keep him interested. Sex had nothing to do with why he loved Hermione, why he would always love her, just as it ultimately had nothing to do with why he _hadn't _wanted Lavender.

"Hermione, we shouldn't," he said.

"Why?" He felt her finally loosening the grip her hands and legs had on his body, and pulled further away from her body, needing a bit more distance between her and his treacherous cock.

"Because…" He had to think. Birds were incredibly sensitive about rejection as he'd learned from both 12 Failsafe Waysand from Lavender, and he didn't want Hermione thinking he was rejecting her, thinking he didn't want her. "Because it would make it too hard to be away from you. Being with you like this, tonight, not knowing when we can be like this again. Don't you think it'll make it too hard to be apart?"

"It's already too hard, Ron. It's always been that way for me."

_Merlin she really is incredible_, Ron thought, marveling at the raw emotion and honestly in her words. It wasn't just Hermione's eyes that were wet now and for the millionth time in his life Ron realized just how unworthy he was to be with this woman. "Please?" he begged. "Can't we just sleep?"

She didn't say anything, only shifted her body until they were spooning against one-another, still naked. Hermione didn't make a sound but he could feel her body occasionally shake as she cried and he held her tighter, wrapping his body around her as if that would protect her, when he knew he was the one causing the pain.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair. "I really do. More than anything."

Eventually she fell asleep, giving in to her exhaustion, while Ron lay awake, keeping her close to him just a little longer.

The morning was awkward. They didn't say a word to one-another and Ron turned his back as Hermione dressed in her shirt and a pair of bottoms she'd obviously worn to sneak up to his room the night before in case anyone saw. He watched as she left the room without so much as a look back in his direction.

After he watched her leave, Ron dressed quickly and slipped out of the house unnoticed by anyone. He knew Harry and his family would want the chance to say their goodbyes to Hermione and he didn't much feel like standing there in the background, waiting for his chance that he wasn't sure he would get. Instead he headed over two hills to the west and found the Portkey, a pink dog collar, exactly where it was supposed to be.

He sat down to wait for Hermione to show up, pulling out clumps of grass, tossing the blades into the air and watching the wind catch them and take them away. Ron wondered if something that felt so wrong, that hurt so much could possibly be the right thing to do? Could he survive without Hermione now that he finally had her?

_Of course I can_, his mind insisted. He may not want to do it, but he could. He had to. _And Hermione? _his heart questioned. _What about her? _

_She'll be alright. She's strong, the strongest person I know_. She'd survived without him before. Hell, he was probably flattering himself that she'd even miss him. She'd only be gone a few days, maybe a week or two at the most, and probably less knowing her. She'd probably get things done a lot faster without him around to slow her down and distract her anyway. She was brilliant after all.

His fingers snapped a small daisy from its hold on the earth and twirled it around. Not sure what inspired him to do so, Ron pulled out his wand and tapped the little flower while muttering an incantation he'd never used outside of one of McGonagall's classes as a few blue sparks swirled from his wand. Immediately the small white flower was Transfigured into a flawless red rose. He inspected it, half expecting the spell to fail before his eyes, but it was perfect. A little cliché, but perfect nonetheless. Perfect, the way only Hermione could make him feel about himself, whenever she kissed him or gave him even the faintest praise.

"Ron?" He looked up at the sound of his name to see Hermione standing there, her trunk floating along behind her.

"Couldn't fit everything in your bag this time?" he joked.

"It's easier to keep things organized this way," she explained. "I couldn't find you at the Burrow. I'd thought you'd left."

"I didn't know if you wanted to see me."

"So you came here?"

Ron couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw her holding back a small smile. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. "Well I still wanted to see you, and if you decided to attack me with canaries or bogies or Merlin-knows-what, I'd rather not have an audience."

"Yes, but that also means no witnesses if I kill you."

"Nah, you'd stop after disfiguring me for life."

"And what makes you so sure?"

As an answer Ron held the rose out to her. "Made it myself," he said, unable to hold back a grin at his own cleverness.

"Ron, it's perfect."

"Then you'll take it?" She reached out and took it from his hand. But before she withdrew, he closed his hand around hers. "Hermione," he whispered, stepping closer. "Last night…we'll finish it when you get back…if you still want to I mean."

She lay her head on his chest and they stood there, holding one another for just a moment. Hermione walked over and picked up the dog collar and grabbed hold of her trunk with her other hand. "Ron…I…" she started, tears filling her eyes.

He didn't know what she had been trying to say. 'I understand' perhaps or maybe 'I'll miss you' or even 'I love you' if he was really lucky.

"You can tell me when you get back, yeah?"

Hermione nodded and Ron turned away as the love of his life vanished far beyond his reach in the blue light of the Portkey. He didn't need one more look at her, especially if she was crying, as he knew she was. Ron had memorized Hermione's every feature long ago, even before he fancied her, during second year when he and Harry visited her petrified form in the hospital wing. He knew her face better than his own, better than Harry's, better than his mum's even. Why wouldn't he? Hers was always the first one his eyes sought out in a room, and the one they lingered long after he was sure she was safe.

Ron stood on that hillside for a long time. He knew he had stayed behind because of his responsibilities, responsibilities that were waiting for him back at the Burrow that very moment, including explaining to his family why he was still in Devon and not in Australia. But it wouldn't hurt to take an hour, or the whole morning, or maybe an entire day, to himself before he was ready to face them…without Hermione.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The chapter's title comes from the song "There She Goes My Beautiful World" by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds off their album _Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus_. This is the same album the "O Children" song from Harry/Hermione's dance scene in _Deathly Hallows _is from, so if you liked that one, you might want to give this one a shot as well.

Well look at that. I gave you R/Hr smut two chapters in a row. How do you like them apples? And so we finally get Ron's side of things. I hope people weren't expecting him to be an arsehole to push Hermione into Nathan's Australian arms. I actually tried writing him that way at one point just to see if I could and it just didn't work. He's just a kid trying to grow up and not repeat the worst mistake of his life by leaving those who needed him most.

Also we're finally done with May '98 chapters! Thank god, right? Next up is Ron's view of the Award Ceremony/Ball. And it's already finished and beta'd so there'll be no delays in getting it up.

Fun factoid: Ron's chat with Kingsley was the very first thing I wrote for this entire fic.


	16. CH15: To Wish Impossible Things

**A/N: **Okay here's the Order of Merlin ceremony and ball from Ron's point of view. It might be a good idea to re-read chapter 13 if the details are the least bit foggy. Basically there are five sections in both chapter 13 and chapter 15, and the way I've set it up is each one of Hermione's sections matches up to one of Ron's. The best way to understand would be to flip between them at the end of each section, but I know that's asking a lot, so just try and keep what's happening in the other chapter in mind as you read this one.

A little shout out to **laurel** for being review #150. This chapter is dedicated to her for helping this story reach another milestone.

And as always, huge thanks to **suerfan24 **for her beta work. Please don't criticize her for faults you find with this story as one reviewer did (direct any issues in my direction). That's one thing I refuse to tolerate as no one but the two of us know how much she does for this story.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: To Wish Impossible Things<strong>

_18 December, 1998_

"So how was it then?" Ron asked as Harry backed into the room. He'd been sitting in Harry's room for hours now, flicking through his Auror texts and munching on chocolate frogs while waiting for him to come back from Hogwarts. Harry jumped, spinning around and dropping into a crouch, his wand out and ready. Ron cringed, hoping Harry realized he wasn't being attacked before throwing a curse in his direction. "It's me, Harry," Ron stammered out. "Just me."

"Merlin Ron," Harry said, standing up and putting his wand away. "Don't do that."

"I see all that training wasn't completely useless," said Ron.

"Practice with me sometime and I'll show you just how useless it was."

"Thanks, but I fancy my head right where it is," said Ron and they both laughed. "So how was it?"

"How was what?"

Ron rolled his eyes. _And people call me thick_. "The dinner party?"

Harry shrugged, taking off his cloak before having a seat on his bed. "Better than the last one I suppose."

"Well you didn't get to go with my sister that time," Ron pointed out.

"Don't I know it," Harry said, and a dreamy look crossed his face, one that Ron did not like in the slightest.

"Alright, lover boy, save it for when I'm out of the room." Harry tossed Ron a rather rude hand gesture and Ron grinned. "I'm sure Luna wouldn't have minded a little bit of slap and tickle when you took her. Not sure Neville would've appreciated it, though," he said, pretending to look thoughtful.

"If anyone was going to be getting off with Luna Lovegood back then, it would've been you mate. If you hadn't been so in love with Hermione—"

"How was she? Tonight, I mean. Did she seem…put out?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Not really, maybe a bit disappointed, but okay." Ron wasn't sure whether to feel relief or disappointment. "What did you tell her anyway?"

"Said Mum wasn't doing too well," Ron said guiltily. He hated himself for lying to Hermione, and this was much worse than when he'd skipped out on the Hogsmeade visit back in October; at least then he actually _did _have business to attend to, even if he'd scheduled the Gringots meeting for that day _on purpose_. But then again, he wasn't the only one telling lies…

"Oi! So I'm the prat who left her behind to go off to some party?"

"I told her not to tell Ginny."

"But Hermione will think that—"

"No she won't. She'd probably love you even if you cast _Cruciatus_ on Crookshanks right in front of her. Lucky git." Ron mumbled this last bit; while he was certain he could never be content with a relationship with Hermione the way she and Harry were with each other, there certainly were times when he envied how easily they seemed to get along, even when they disagreed.

"Good point," Harry said, unwrapping a frog for himself. "So I didn't ask before when you told me you weren't coming tonight, but d'you mind telling me exactly why I'm lying to Hermione?"

"You didn't—"

"Well then why are _you _lying to Hermione? I thought you said things went well at the Quidditch match."

"They did." Harry didn't say anything, obviously waiting for Ron to explain. "I panicked alright? It's just…too _hard_."

Harry snorted. "This from my mate who took down a piece of Riddle's soul, who brought down Greyback, who faced Acromantulas when he was thirteen—"

"Okay, okay. I'm a bloody coward. I just, sort of, panicked." Ron stood to leave but Harry reached out and gripped his arm. Ron turned to look his best mate in the face.

"Don't be a prat. I'm just…I don't want you yanking her around. You're not, are you?"

_You mean like she did to me for years?_ Ron thought bitterly. _The way she's still doing now? It'd serve her right, if I was. _Of course he didn't really mean that. He'd gotten over hurting Hermione on purpose in sixth year and had no intention of ever doing so again. But that didn't mean he was going to throw himself under the Knight Bus either; she wasn't the only vulnerable one. "That's not what I mean…I'm not trying…"

Ron could see Harry trying to understand—not that he possibly could. He didn't understand, either, come to think of it. And it was clear Hermione wasn't going to clue him in anytime soon. Not once in her letters had she mentioned Australia. It had been almost five months since they'd gone to fetch her for their trials and she was still acting like she'd just taken an extended holiday instead of abandoning him for months without _anything_.

Honestly, he was completely mixed up. And the kiss she'd given him in Diagon Alley before she left for school and the peck on the cheek he'd given her after the Quidditch match had certainly not helped straighten anything out, no matter how much he'd enjoyed them.

"Look, Ron," started Harry uncomfortably, "I know we don't…talk…about this sort of thing. But if you want to…"

Part of Ron did want to tell Harry what he was feeling, to get all of his hurt and confusion off his chest and confide in him. Harry was his best mate for fuck's sake: surely this was _exactly _the sort of thing best mates were for.

"Thanks, Harry. But—"

"Right," said Harry, looking somewhat relieved. They were both silent for a moment.

"Shame we can't talk about this sort of thing. Was a lot more fun when you fancied Cho, always acted like such an idiot around her…" Ron said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Fun for you, maybe. You're just lucky you've fancied Hermione as long as I can remember. Not as much fun to tease you when it means picturing the two of you together like _that_."

"Oi! I have to deal with you and my sister," Ron said, acting disgusted with the very idea.

"And I have to deal with you and _my _sister."

"What's so disgusting about that?" Ron said.

"It's not disgusting…just embarrassing. You two… I mean, honestly," Harry said, shaking his head and doing a rather spot-on impression of Hermione. They both laughed.

"You don't think the girls talk about us do you?" said Harry, suddenly worried.

"Probably," Ron said indifferently. They both knew for a fact Hermione had given advice to Ginny about Harry in their fourth year, and he saw no reason why she would stop now. And he was _sure _Ginny was more than happy to provide Hermione with every embarrassing detail of his childhood he'd managed to keep a secret over the years.

"You don't think they talk about…y'know, do you?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised in fear.

Ron was indignant. "They better not because there better be nothing for Ginny to tell Hermione about…y'know." Even if he was upset at the idea of Harry and Ginny exchanging anymore than a kiss on the cheek, it still felt ridiculous that neither of them could just come out and say the word 'shagging.' _Probably a sign we're not ready for that yet_, Ron thought sagely, and as he recalled Hermione's last night at the Burrow before she left for Australia, feeling more sure than ever that he'd made the right decision at the time. _Just look at us now. Sex would've only made this into a bigger mess than it already is_. Not that he could've ever regretted shagging Hermione or considered it a mistake. But just because he felt that way didn't mean she felt the same.

"Course not," Harry assured him. "Look, maybe we should talk about something else."

"Nah, 'm off to bed. Night Harry."

"Night Ron."

He headed up the stairs to his room and climbed into bed before pulling the Marauder's Map out from its hiding place beneath his mattress and checked it to find Hermione tucked away in her dorm. Ron had found himself sleeping much better since Harry had given him the map. It was calming, knowing where she was and that she was safe after all that time he'd spent in the dark with her in Australia. But as he slowly let sleep overcome him, Ron remembered the second part of his letter to Hermione and realized he had exactly two weeks before he would see Hermione again and have to decide exactly where they stood—or more precisely, where he wanted them to stand.

_1 January, 1999_

Christmas had been wonderful, certainly better than last year. Bill, Charlie and Fleur all came to stay with them, as did Audrey, Andromeda and little Teddy. And with Ginny home as well, the Burrow was so crowded that not even Fred's absence wasn't too noticeable except when one's eyes caught sight of his stocking hanging next to George's or lingered over the place where the family clock had one been. Of course for Ron this meant a lot of time spent in the kitchen. Charlie teased him mercilessly for acting like a poof and spending the afternoons cooking with Audrey and Fleur rather than playing Quidditch or having snowball fights with Ginny and the boys, but he didn't mind. It only made things feel more like normal and helped him forget about the lack of George's (and Fred's) familiar teasing. The only real bother was Ron's nagging desire to have him Mum with him, maybe teaching him how to prepare his first Christmas supper.

Of course, the biggest surprise of the holiday was when Ginny opened Harry's present to find a brand-new Firebolt. All of the Weasley boys had salivated in jealously as none of them—not even Charlie—had ever had a broom that nice during their Quidditch days. And while it had been a little hard to stomach watching Ginny slobbering all over Harry's face with a shower of thank-you kisses, Ron found himself not the least bit jealous. How could he, when Harry hadn't even bought himself a replacement for the one he'd lost, and had been content with using Ron's old Shooting Star? Some things were just more important than worrying about who had the nicest broom and he was happy to see his mate finally spending some of his fortune on what he wanted, even if his sister was the one who really benefitted.

As he'd told Hermione at the match he didn't really miss the pressures of playing competitively, but as Ginny thrived on it, she certainly deserved the best. He could only hope that it'd help her stand-out enough to compensate for the fact that she'd done what was best for the team as a whole and not just herself by deciding to play Seeker this year. It couldn't have come at a better time, as Ginny had excitedly informed their family that she'd spoken to Gwenog Jones and Slughorn's party and the Harpy's captain had remembered her from two years previously and promised that there'd be a Holyhead scout watching her next match against Hufflepuff.

Ron knew how down Ginny had been this year thanks to the information Harry had relayed to him. Like himself, she'd put all her eggs in one basket: Ron into becoming an Auror, Ginny into going pro. Neither of them had ever been practical enough to come up with a backup plan, and though Ron had settled in at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he knew Ginny could never be content with a future working at her dead brother's shop. She deserved to follow her dreams like the rest of her family.

As for Ron, he'd been quite pleased with his own presents, though he'd given Harry trouble for spending all his money on his sister and only having enough left over to buy him a sodding book. It was a copy of the basic Auror Training Manual. Harry told him he was tired of Ron always borrowing his and Ron actually quite liked it, though of course he couldn't admit to liking anything that required him to read.

Apparently his entire family had coordinated their presents as Harry wasn't the only one to get him a book. Percy and Charlie both got him magical cookbooks, and Bill gave him Galleon for Your Thoughts: How to Strike Gold with the Simplest Ideas, to help him with the shop. At least Ginny got him a book he actually liked since it was about the history of the Chudley Cannons. He didn't understand why everyone suddenly thought he was turning to Hermione, and wondered if the gifts weren't a subtle hint about the busy-haired witch.

Surprisingly Hermione seemed to be the only one who _hadn't _sent him a book. Instead she'd sent him an incredibly lumpy hand-knit jumper and though it wasn't up to his Mum's standard, it wasn't maroon either which made it the best Christmas jumper he'd ever received in his mind. Of course he hadn't worn it yet as his Mum hadn't been up to making the Weasley jumpers _as expected _and he didn't want to remind her or anyone else of how different things were this Christmas.

Unfortunately, all that good cheer was quickly dissolving as he stood around Tottenham Court in new dress robes (courtesy of his Dad as both a Christmas present and reward for his Order of Merlin) waiting for Hermione, feeling both uncomfortable and quite cold.

_Should've cast a Heating Charm before I Apparated_, Ron thought as he stood around shivering. _Or at least grabbed a cloak_. He would've just ducked into an alley to cast the spell but since Percy's engagement party, he didn't feel quite safe in the dark, enclosed spaces, practically running out of them whenever he had to use one to cover his Apparition into a Muggle area. Thankfully, he spotted Hermione walking toward him and ran over to her in a mixture of eagerness to see her and the simple desire to move his stiff limbs.

She wasn't wearing dress robes, but rather an ice-blue Muggle evening gown that hugged her hips and thighs in the wind the way Ron would've liked his hands to and hung from her shoulders by a pair of very thin straps. He was also pleased to see that she had left her hair down rather than twisting it up, and her dark curls looked stunning against her light, and more importantly bare, shoulders. She was absent of any jewelry or other ornamentation save the pair of earrings he had given her and a single blue rose set in her hair. And by the way she wasn't shivering in the slightest he guessed she _hadn't _forgottenher own Heating Charm.

"Hi," Hermione said, a very large smile on her face, making her seem, impossibly, even more beautiful. "Merry Christmas."

"Wow, you're just…I mean that dress…" He managed to close his mouth and pull his eyes back inside their socks. He coughed. "What I mean is, uh, you u look great."

Her smile seemed to grow even wider. "You look, uh, great too Ron," she said teasingly, though the way her eyes shown as she spoke let him know she meant every word.

"Well I feel like a bloody idiot. Every Muggle that walks by stares at me like I'm some kind of freak."

"Well it might have something to do with the fact that you're wearing robes."

"Oh. Right."

"But I'm sure you were just imagining it. They've probably seem much stranger things. They're new aren't they?"

"What?"

"Your robes. I've never seen them before."

"Oh, yeah. Present from Mum and Dad. My old ones don't fit anymore and I guess they didn't like the idea of me showing up tonight wearing my Quidditch kit, for some reason."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Ron grinned as he saw her crack a small smile. "Well, shall we go? We're only staying a few blocks from here and I thought we could walk back."

Ron considered insisting that they Apparate so he could get out of the cold as soon as possible, but that would mean informing Hermione that he'd forgotten the Heating Charm, and decided to suck it up.

"So," Hermione started as they began walking, "how's your mum?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"You wrote and told me she was out of sorts before Christmas, remember? That's why you couldn't make it to the party."

"Oh, right," said Ron nervously, wondering how he hadn't made it five minutes without screwing up. "Yeah, she's alright now. Think having everyone home for the hols is doing her good. Too noisy around the house to let her hole up in bed and sleep the day away. So, exams are coming up? Started your reviews yet?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

Hermione huffed, puffing her chest out—something that Ron didn't mind in the slightest. "Of course I've started. N.E.W.T.s _are_ only the most important examinations I'll ever take. They're the culmination of my entire academic career. I started the first day of class," she said importantly, sounding exactly like McGonagall had in his career counseling back in fifth year.

Ron sniggered. "That's my girl," he said under his breath. "How was Christmas with your folks?"

She stiffened at his question. Australia was of course a rather sore subject, and Ron didn't much fancy talking about it either, but he didn't see any way around it. "It was lovely. A bit strange since it's summer there at the moment, so there was no snow or anything. Felt quite strange to sing 'White Christmas' when it was thirty degrees outside."

"Did you play the piano?" Ron asked eagerly. He'd come to love the instrument (at least when Hermione played it) when he'd stayed with her parents before sixth year and again during their stay at Grimmauld place whiling the time away in-between planning their break-in of the Ministry.

"A little. I mostly let Daddy play though. He's much better than I am."

Hermione hadn't taken lessons since she was eleven and wasn't exactly a prodigy. "I think you're great," Ron told her sincerely.

"Yes, well, it's not like you'd know the difference anyway. You don't have anyone else to compare me to."

Ron wasn't sure who she was insulting with that comment, but he had an inkling that neither of them had escaped unscathed, and frowned. Thankfully, Hermione seemed to sense she'd said something wrong. "Oh, I meant to thank you for my present. It'll be really useful."

"No problem," Ron said. In truth, it _had _been a problem. He'd had trouble deciding on what to get her, and on what kind of message he wanted to send. "I just remembered you complaining about how much your wrist hurt after O.W.L.s in fifth year, and I thought I'd spare you the discomfort."

"Which is why I said it'll come in handy," she said.

Maybe it was his imagination, but she sounded a bit perturbed. Had she really not liked the gift? Or was something else upsetting her? Was she still suspicious that he'd lied about his Mum?

Before he had a chance to prod her further, they came across her parents waiting outside their hotel, Mr. Granger dressed in a fine black muggle suit and Mrs. Granger looking quite lovely in a silvery gown. "Mr. Granger," Ron said, sticking his hand out as he remembered his manners. Hermione's dad shook it and he moved to offer the same to Mrs. Granger but she pulled him into a warm embrace and Ron couldn't help but hug her back. It had been some time since he'd felt such warmth with his Mum always moping and Hermione being…

"I hear you'll be escorting me to the big to-do tonight, Ron," said Mrs. Granger, hooking her arm into his. "I don't think I could ask for a handsomer escort."

Ron felt himself warm at the compliment and thanked Merlin that his ears were already red from the cold.

"Stop it Carol," said Mr. Granger jovially. "You'll embarrass the boy."

Mrs. Granger reached out and pinched her husband's arm. "Don't worry darling. I doubt I could keep him from Hermione if I tried," she told him and they kissed, though the peck quickly became much deeper.

Ron looked at them strangely. He'd never seen Hermione's parents act like this before, let alone right in the open. He turned to Hermione and saw her cheeks were a bit pink, and guessed it had more to do with her Mother's comment than her parents' display of affection or the cold.

"Right, so, you know how to Apparate to Bamburgh Castle right?" Hermione asked him.

Ron nodded. "Dad had us all memorize the picture. 'Destination, Demonization, Debilitation'" Ron misquoted, knowing it would drive her crazy. Hermione however didn't take the bait. Instead, she grabbed her Dad's arm after her parents finally separated and Disapparated as soon as she was sure no muggles were watching.

"Well, shall we, Mr. Weasley?" asked Mrs. Granger.

Ron smiled, but inwardly he was sighing. It seemed even when he tried his hardest, things with Hermione didn't go smoothly. "Well let's go. Don't want all the appetizers to be gone before I get a crack at them." And with a 'pop', the two of them followed.

They appeared outside the Castle among a crowd of witches and wizards. The grounds were stunning, resplendent with fairy lights and trees made of solid silver and a red carpet stretching out from the entrance lined with photographers. Seamlessly Hermione exchanged places with her mother, gripping his arm quite tightly as they made their way toward the open doors.

"Isn't this a Muggle castle? How can they even have this whole nightmare here? I mean what if some Muggle wanders by and sees this rabble?" Ron asked, voicing a question that had been burning inside him since he'd first received the letter.

"Honestly," Hermione let out exasperatedly. "It's a Muggle castle, but it's abandoned during the winter. No-one comes up here. And they've probably put up all sorts of enchantments to repel Muggles just in case like they have at Hogwarts or like the World Cup."

"You really do know everything, don't you?"

"I read, don't I?"

Ron wondered what she could possibly have been reading to come across such information. "Well apparently my family thinks I do to. Must think you've corrupted me," he joked. She looked at him strangely and Ron only shook his head. "Everyone got me books this year, even Harry. Meanwhile, he got Ginny a Firebolt."

"Well look at you: Ronald Weasley, all grown up. Never thought I'd see the day," Hermione said smiling, before turning him toward a camera as someone snapped their photo, then led him down the carpet. Just before they went inside she turned to face him and straightened his tie, running her hands over his shoulders to smooth out his robes. "There. Now you're perfect," she told him.

As they linked arms again and entered the hall to find their seats, Ron could only wish she was right.

...

"You okay mate?" Harry leaned over to ask Ron as they mulled about after the ceremony waiting for the ministry staff to change the hall into the ballroom. They'd been swept away in the crowd into a side room which seemed to be some kind of library. He didn't understand who would've felt the need to make the room completely authentic since outside of a few minutes' wait, everyone would be spending the night in the main room, but decided not to question it.

"Yeah, fine," Ron whispered back as another unfamiliar wizard came up and shook first Harry's and then Ron's hands. It had been a steady stream since the ceremony ended. At first Ron had tried to catch the names and actually respond, but had quickly given up and simply smiled and nodded without even bothering to process what they were saying to him.

Honestly, he _was _fine. It was _George_ he was worried about. No-one had told them ahead of time that anyone besides Harry, Hermione, Neville and himself were being honored and he'd been completely unprepared to hear Fred's named called. He couldn't believe his family had let George go up alone to claim Fred's Star. But maybe it had been for the best. He wasn't sure, and the only way to find out was to find George. Unfortunately he hadn't seen him since.

"Okay yourself, Harry?" Ron asked, realizing George wasn't the only one who had probably relived his loss tonight.

"Fine," said Harry, and he sounded like he meant it. Ron was glad. He really couldn't afford to worry about Harry on top of everything else at the moment.

"Thinking of running for Minister? Sounded like your speech tonight was good practice," Ron said, smirking.

"Sod off. Kingsley said it would mean a lot to people if I said something. I only agreed in return for getting to give the medals to you and Hermione. And I didn't even get to do that," Harry said, pretending to sound bitter.

"What can I say? You were taking too long and acting like a total poof," Ron said.

The two friends continued to tease each other as much as possible until the crowd slowly started to flow back into the main hall. They saw Kingsley approach them.

"There you two are. The four of you are supposed to open the ball with a dance."

"Open?" Harry gulped and Ron sniggered. He knew that Harry hadn't danced since the Yule Ball and was terrified of the looming threat of appearing a fool in front of hundreds of wizards. _Tell him he has to die? No problem. But ask a bloke to dance and he turns white as a ghost._

"Don't worry mate, they won't even be looking at you," Ron reassured him. "Remember, Neville's gonna be out there too."

"Speaking of Neville, I need to go find him and his date," said Kingsley before hurrying off.

"I better go find Ginny," said Harry looking around for his girlfriend. Ron rolled his eyes and gave him a shove before walking over to Hermione.

She was standing in front of a window, looking out into the now-darkened castle grounds, the soft lights of the fairies reflecting off a layer of snow that was just beginning to build up. She'd been almost as distracted as Ron had since the ceremony ended, and he wondered what was bothering her so much that hadn't so much as examined the cover of any of the books that surrounded them.

"Hey." His voice was soft, but she still jumped, placing a hand to her breast.

"You startled me."

"I tend to have that effect on young witches," Ron said arrogantly.

"Well then I might remind you I'm five months older than you are," she said haughtily.

He smiled but it only lasted a moment. "Kingsley said he needs us. We're supposed to open the ball."

"Right," she said. Ron took her arm and led her to where Kingsley stood with Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Luna.

"Okay, as soon as the music starts, the six of you will enter. It's just the first song. After that, try and enjoy yourselves," Kinsley told them sympathetically before entering the hall.

Ron took a deep breath. He wondered if this was what it had felt like for Harry and Hermione the night of the Yule Ball, about to make their grand entrance. That seemed like a million years ago, another lifetime.

The band struck up a tune and the six of them entered, Harry and Ginny in the middle, Ron and Hermione on the right and Neville and Luna on the left. As they started to dance it was quite obvious to everyone that Ron and Hermione were the best pair of the three. They weren't exactly brilliant or flashy, but they'd had the most experience dancing as a couple and knew how to read each other's body movements perfectly. Ginny, as Ron knew, was quite good, but Harry's awkwardness prevented him from trying anything too complicated and he mostly revolved around one spot on the floor while Ginny twirled herself around him.

Neville and Luna however were a complete disaster. It seemed they couldn't agree on how to dance; Luna seemed content to twirl about on her own but Neville obviously wanted to hold her close in a more conventional manner and kept trying to move in on her but never seemed to manage to get a hold.

While the sight should've been amusing, Ron couldn't seem to enjoy it, or the fact that he was dancing with Hermione. He didn't understand. Sure they'd gotten to dance at Bill and Fleur's wedding, but being her date to a ball like this, to have her all to himself in front of all these people was something he'd wanted from the moment he realized he was too late back in fourth year. So why wasn't it perfect? They were dancing just fine, moving comfortably, but he could sense a stiffness in her beneath his fingers. And though they held each other close, the few inches between them seemed to stretch to miles.

The song ended and everyone clapped before the dance floor began to fill up. "You okay," Ron asked Hermione. She hadn't looked at him once since the dance started. Wasn't this what she wanted: to be here with him like this? She'd certainly been acting like it was since coming back from Australia. But then again, he knew from experience trying to understand Hermione's actions was completely useless.

"Yes, I'm fine," she told him, still refusing to meet his eye.

"Right," said Ron, starting to get angry. He had gotten used to having her gone, to being needed by people who actually appreciated what he did for them instead of just using him when it was convenient. But he didn't want a row, not here, not in front of all these people. "Then you don't mind if I dance with Ginny for a song, would you?"

"N-no, of course not," she told him. "I'll just dance with Harry."

_Fuck. Why does she have to sound so fucking sad? _Ron wondered. Ignoring his instinct to stay with her, to push her until she talked to him, he left and found Ginny and Harry. "In need of a rescue Gin?" he asked, committed to forgetting about whatever was troubling Hermione.

"Please," she said, laughing as she pushed Harry away and flung herself at Ron.

"What about me?" whined Harry.

"Go dance with Hermione," Ginny suggested. "She'll probably be more patient than I am anyway,."

Harry looked at Ron for a moment. Those green eyes seemed to be asking if everything was alright. Ron rolled his eyes as if to answer _Who knows _and turned his focus to Ginny. Hermione was Harry's problem for the moment.

"You alright?" Ron asked her.

"I-I didn't know they were going to give him…"

"Me either."

"You think George is okay?"

"Dunno. Have you seen him?" Ginny shook her head. "I'll look for him," Ron said moving to let Ginny go but she clung on to his sleeves. He looked back at her questioningly.

"One song?" she asked, her eyes suddenly mischievous. "For Fred?"

Ron smiled back. "For Fred."

Completely ignoring the slow number being played, the two of them cut a swath across the dance floor, Ron picking Ginny up and spinning her round, turning her long legs into dangerous, decapitating weapons to anyone in the vicinity. They laughed and shouted as they stomped around, performing an exaggerated tango and bumping into a number of Ministry dignitaries, not caring in the least what sort of spectacle they were making. The song ended and they stood there facing one another, out of breath and panting, but smiling.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Ron asked her again as they calmed down

"Don't tell me _you're _going to start spouting this 'I love you' shite as well."

"Nah. I'll leave that to your poof of a boyfriend."

"He was your boyfriend first, so I think that makes you a poof too."

They both grinned and exchanged the briefest of hugs before Ron left the dance floor in search of George.

...

It seemed like it took forever for Ron to find George. Of course, he hadn't expected his brother to be hiding outside, sitting on the red carpet turning Fred's Star over in his hands as snow continued to fall in large, flaky clumps. Ron hesitated a moment before approaching George. A part of him didn't want to disturb his brother's solitude, but decided it was better for George to tell him to shove off if he wanted to be let alone than for George to think he'd been abandoned.

"Cold out here innit?" Ron asked conversationally. George didn't turn around, but shrugged his shoulders letting Ron know he'd heard him. "I'd offer to do a Heating Charm for you, but you're probably better off doing it yourself."

"What do you want Ron?" George's voice came out cracked, almost broken, and Ron wondered how long his brother had cried after accepting that Star.

"Nothing. Just escaping all the dancing. You know how rubbish I am at that stuff. Just lucky Fred's not here to give me trouble about it." Ron hoped mentioning a fond memory of their brother was the right thing to do rather than ignoring the Snorkack in the room. "Ginny and I gave it a shot, but I thought you might want to come and show us how it's really done."

"No thanks."

"Right. Probably the better move. Mind if I hide out here with you?"

George didn't say anything and Ron just stood there, watching his brother ever so slowly being buried in the falling snow.

"You're not Fred, Ron." George finally said.

"I know," Ron said, feeling lost.

"Then stop acting like it."

"Like what?"

"Like you're my friend."

"But…I am your friend, George. I'm your brother."

George shook his head. "We're brothers, but we're not friends."

Ron was surprisingly hurt by George's comment. True, he'd never been incredibly close with the twins, but when they were little Ron had really looked up to them, always trying to tag along and get them to let him join in. No matter how many times they tricked or teased him, he always came back for more until they went off to Hogwarts and he finally took the hint that even Fred and George were too cool to hang out with Ickle Ronniekins. Since then he'd come to accept it as a fact of life. After all, he'd ditched Ginny the same way when he went off to Hogwarts and made friends with Harry and Hermione. It was just the way things were.

But who was he doing all this for if not for George? He'd given up his dream of being an Auror for George, gave up going to Australia for George. Hell, if he had gone, this whole mess with Hermione might've been avoided completely. Not that he expected or even wanted George to thank him for what he'd done or blamed him for his current mess. Ron just wanted to know it hadn't been a waste, that he hadn't lost Hermione for nothing. And to hear George talk like this…

"That's not on George. You might only think of us as brothers, but—"

"But what?" George exclaimed. "We're not friends and you know it. You have Harry and Hermione for that. And I have…had Fred. People think I just lost a brother when he died, that I lost a twin. I did, but I also lost my only real friend." Ron was silent for a moment, unsure what to say. "You know we were jealous of you," George continued. "Me and Fred had loads of friends, everybody liked us—well everybody but Filch and the teachers. But we never found a friendship like the three of you share. We just had each other. I didn't…I don't even have anyone to go to and talk about him. I just, never really thought I'd need someone else like that."

Ron crouched down and touched George on the shoulder, thankful he didn't immediately throw him off. He was starting to realize this wasn't really about him. It was about George needing _someone_, but feeling like that would mean replacing Fred. "You never found a friend like that because you never tried. You never needed to. Fred was just…there."

"Is that all it was? Because he was _there_?"

Ron had no clue what to say to _that_. This was deep stuff, not his usual cup of tea. "I think…I think you and Fred were supposed to be friends. You two were brilliant together. But that doesn't mean you can't find someone else to be brilliant with. And it won't change what Fred means to you either."

George sat there listlessly for a moment before holding up Fred's Star. "What d'you reckon he would've done with this?

Ron looked at it contemplatively for a moment, frowning slightly. "Probably would've used a Permanent Sticking Charm on it and slapped it to Percy's face and started calling him Five-Head."

George then did something he hadn't in eight months; he laughed.

Ron left George a few minutes later. He didn't know if it was the right thing to do under the circumstances, but if George could laugh, Ron figured he'd be alright. And he did feel bad about leaving Hermione alone for so long. As he came to the entrance to the ballroom, he found a familiar blonde standing there watching the dancers.

"Hey Luna," Ron said. He hadn't spoken to her since she came by the shop a week before term started and he was surprised to find that he'd actually missed her. Luna was always good for brightening one's spirits and he certainly could use more of that in his life.

"Hello Ronald," Luna said as she looked him up and down. "Those robes look very nice, but they don't suit you."

"Err, don't they?" Ron asked, trying to look himself over, but realized it was probably just Luna being batty. "Listen, you haven't seen…"

"Hermione? I've seen her." Ron waited for Luna to elaborate but she didn't. He craned his neck to look around the room scanning the dance floor and tables for Hermione's bushy hair. He finally saw her sitting at a table alone. He was about to tell Luna goodbye and go join her, maybe even suck it up and apologize for leaving her alone half the night if she was really angry when he noticed some bloke was trying to chat her up.

Suddenly, going over to her was the last thing Ron wanted to do. "Uh Luna? You wouldn't, uh, wanna dance, maybe?"

"Oh yes, I'd like that very much," she said enthusiastically.

"Great," Ron said, only now remembering what Luna was like when she was dancing. "You think we can dance, you know, _normal_?" Ron asked her as they moved onto the dance floor."

Luna considered this for a moment. "Well I don't see why you'd want to, but alright." She placed a hand on his shoulder and another on Ron's waist.

"Thanks," said Ron in relief as they quickly began dancing in-step with everyone else. Dancing with Luna proved to be an interesting challenge. Though she was smaller than both Ginny and Hermione—especially since she didn't wear heels like the other girls—she didn't seem to grasp the concept that _he _was the one that was supposed to be leading, and Ron found himself being directed time and again until he finally decided to just go along with it. "So, uh, how are you and Neville," Ron asked. They might as well talk if they were dancing this close, and he couldn't think of anything else to say. "I don't see him around."

"He and Dean had a bit of a tiff," Luna explained.

"Really?" Ron asked, intrigued. As far as he knew his two former dorm mates had never had a problem with each other before, and neither of them were the type to express anger. "Do you know what about?"

"I have no idea," Luna said honestly. "But it gave us a chance to dance, so I don't mind."

"I suppose," said Ron absentmindedly.

"I love him," she said plainly as if she were merely commenting on the weather. "Neville. But I don't think I'll ever be _in love _with him. That makes a difference, don't you think?"

"Uh, yeah." _Bloody hell it made a difference! _It was what separated his feelings for Hermione from his feelings for…Ginny. "Isn't that sort of a problem?" Ron asked, thinking of Neville.

Luna looked at him like he'd said something stupid."Love is a solution. It should never be a problem, though people always seem to want to make it into one don't they?"

"Uh I suppose," said Ron, not sure he'd understood Luna's words—though since it sounded like something Dumbledore would say, he thought it a good idea to try.

"People like you."

"Me?"

"You're in love with Hermione, aren't you?" Ron's only answer was his scarlet ears. He didn't know what to say. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd be discussing his love life with Luna Lovegood. "But you're dancing with me instead of her. And she's the same way, which is why she's dancing with that other boy instead."

Ron turned his head so fast he got whiplash. Sure enough Hermione was dancing with that smarmy bloke he'd seen chatting her up earlier. Actually the bloke looked familiar, like Ron had seen him somewhere before but couldn't place him.

"Your face is turning rather red, you know," Luna said. "You must be quite angry. Or choking on a turnip, but I haven't seen you eat one of those."

"What? No, o'course not. Why would I be mad?" Of course he wasn't angry. He was _furious_, at the ponce dancing with Hermione, at Hermione for acting like a complete tart when she was supposed to be _his _date, and most of all at himself for letting this happen _again_.

How could she behave like this? He'd thought they were past hurting one-another, torturing one-another, trying to make each other jealous. After sixth year Hermione had to know how much it hurt. So why would she want to cause him even a fraction of that pain, when he only wanted what was best for her, what would make her happiest?

No, he wasn't letting this happen again, not right in front of him when he had a chance to stop it. He didn't know if Hermione wanted him to come after her or not; Ron only knew he couldn't watch her for another second. He let go of Luna. "Sorry, I-I need to—" he started to explain.

"Yes, you do." She nodded and Ron grinned. Luna wasn't just good for a smile; she was actually quite brilliant.

"Thanks," Ron said, before marching over to Hermione and Mr. Pretty-Boy, determined to give both of them a piece of his mind.

...

Ron hadn't planned for things turning out like this. He'd planned to kick the blond gitto the curb and then deal with Hermione. But as soon as he'd puller her close to him out on that dance floor to tell her off, he could think of nothing except how soft she was, how much he liked her in that dress and how he liked having her in his arms like this even more. He was still angry, but he hadn't counted on the way just a bit of contact with her to make his cock as stiffer than goblin-made armor. It had just been _so long _since he'd had her like this.

Which was why he'd pulled her off the dance floor and into the library they'd waited in earlier. He didn't know if he was going to snog her or scream at her, but figured either way, it was better done in private.

There in the dark he'd made one last attempt to stay angry at her, to vent his rage at her—not just from seeing her dance with another bloke, but for everything that had happened since she left for Australia. But in the pale light coming through the windows he'd caught the gleam of familiar tears on her cheek. And he couldn't hate her, couldn't stay angry at her. Not then, with her looking like the most beautiful creature in existence. He couldn't bear the thought of being the cause of those tears _again_. No, he wanted to be the one to take her tears away, to be the light in her life the way she was in his.

And so he'd reached out and wiped them away, revealing the beautiful girl underneath, his girl, his Hermione. And before he knew it they were kissing. He didn't know who had started it, but didn't care. Their hands roamed one another's bodies desperately. Her touch, her scent, all of it was so intoxicating, like he'd downed two bottles of Firewhiskey and his mind was wiped of all thought except those of Hermione, as they touched each other, pleasured each other and made one-another moan.

And then she was coming on his fingers, coating him in her juices and he watched her orgasm, her entire body shivering, small sighs and whimpers escaping her lips and finally remembered what _this_ was like, what _they _were truly capable of together. It was exactly the way he wanted to start this and every new year, the way he wanted stay forever.

As their foreheads rested against one another, Ron felt his heart hammering in his chest, but it seemed to come to a crashing stop as Hermione finally managed to form a coherent sentence and he felt her mouth form three little words he'd waited years to hear against his skin.

"I love you."

He froze at the sound. The smattering of kisses he'd been covering her face in came to a halt and his body instinctually pulled away from hers. She was still stroking his cock and Ron had to reach down and remove her hand.

"Ron?" Hermione asked, suddenly confused as her feet slid to the floor now that he was no longer helping to prop her up. "What's wrong?"

Honestly he wasn't quite sure. Her hair was a complete mess and her eyes still sparkled with a mixture of lust and satisfaction and her dress was still half-hanging off her body. But the sight of her suddenly wasn't as arousing as he should've found it. All he felt when he looked at her was a sharp twist in his gut, like he might be sick…like he needed to be sick, to get out whatever it was inside him that caused this pain.

She reached for his face, but he raised a hand to block her. "Ron?" Hermione's voice came out broken, her tears from earlier beginning to return.

He fixed his robes, then pulled the strap of her dress back up. "Ron what's the matter? Talk to me, Ron." Her hands sought to caress his face again and he caught them in his fists. She struggled against him for a moment before he yanked them down, almost hard enough to hurt her and she stopped fighting him.

"We should go," he told her. "I'll go find your parents. You fix your hair." She stared at him blankly and he released his grip and left her standing there.

Ron was in a different world as he went back into the hall. He didn't see anyone, didn't hear anyone as he moved through the crowd. He didn't know how he found the Grangers or what he said to them, but somehow the three of them met Hermione at the door to the castle. All he could think about was the lie Hermione had told him in the library, and how cruel it was to want to believe it so badly when he knew it couldn't be true, not with everything he knew she was still keeping from him.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" he heard Mrs. Granger ask Hermione and Ron knew without looking that she hadn't bothered to make herself presentable after their encounter in the library.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just tired."

"It has been a long night," Mr. Granger agreed, obviously understanding now was not the time or place to talk about such things.

Outside they found nearly half a foot of snow on the ground and Ron briefly wondered if George had gone home, or if he was perhaps still out there somewhere, lying buried in the cold. He somewhat fancied the idea himself at the moment. Instead, he took Mrs. Granger's arm, doing his best not to appear rough or callous and Disapparated.

They walked out of the alley to the front of the Granger's hotel with Hermione and her Dad joining them a moment later. Her parents thanked him for the evening and wished him goodnight but Ron didn't bother to respond.

"Mum, Daddy, I'll be up in a minute. I just want to say goodnight to Ron first," he heard Hermione say. He didn't know what he was still doing there, why he didn't just Disapparate back to the Burrow. It was just _those words. _He'd waited so long to hear her say them, but tonight they'd only served as a wake-up call, a reminder that their actions tonight didn't really mean anything to her, that she didn't—couldn't—care about him the way he wished she could, the way he wanted her to more than he wanted anything else in the world. For her, it was just about the moment, a way to relieve the tension that had been brewing between them these past months.

"Ron, talk to me," Hermione said. "Please, tell me what's wrong, what I did to upset you." Ron didn't care about her words. His only thought was _At least she's not crying anymore_. As angry as he was, he didn't think he could take it if she started crying again. "Ron, please. Is this about that boy I was dancing with? He…he wasn't anybody. I was…I was trying to make you jealous. I just saw you with Luna and you'd been ignoring me all night and acting like you didn't want to be there with me and—"

"I know." His voice came out calm and even, surprising him. It wasn't about the boy at the dance. Ron had completely forgotten about him.

"It was stupid and I'm sorry. I just wanted you to...to notice me."

"I know," Ron repeated and this time she seemed to hear him because a small look of relief broke out on her face.

"It doesn't matter now. Tonight…tonight was perfect. It didn't matter if we didn't get to dance much or—"

"_No_, you don't get it" Ron looked her hard in the eye and he saw her wilt a little under his gaze. "I _know!_ I know about _Australia_. I know about _him_." She looked at him, completely bewildered for a moment before realization dawned on her. Suddenly her eyes widened in complete and utter terror as the meaning of his words sunk in.

"How could…you couldn't possible…Ron, you don't understand. Just let me explain. It's not…it was a mistake. Please, Ron. Please." She was begging as tears cascaded down her cheeks, her hands scrambling to clutch at his robes, his face, trying to hold onto him, to keep him there with her. But Ron was strangely unaffected. "You can't know…you can't understand…just please, listen. I'll…"

"Don't bother," he told her, shrugging her off, feeling a wave of déjà vu, reminding him of a night very much like this one, the night he regretted perhaps more than any other in his life. But this time, he knew he was right in leaving, knew there was nothing here worth staying for. And with a loud 'pop' he Disapparated, not caring if any muggles were watching, leaving Hermione alone and crying in the falling snow.

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><p><strong>AN: **The chapter's title comes from the song "To Wish Impossible Things" by the Cure off their album _Wish_.

I hope this did an adequate job of filling in the missing parts from chapter 13. I tried the best I could and thought it turned out alright. And who saw that bomb I dropped at the end coming?


	17. CH16: Seeing Other People

**A/N: **Wow, 200 reviews. That's really, really crazy. And awesome. But it's the quality of reviews, not just the numbers, that means a lot to me, whether they're short and encouraging or long and critical. Please keep up the love.

So I want to thank **Athenais777,** **Hilary, laurel, ObsessedRHShipper, electra, I don't have a name, RyanRow02, Sarden, saintess7, BarbaraBriana, Weak4Weasley, lightpost57, copa77, tabitoo, DeLoreanDMC-12, SilverDoe23, milan4ever, AddisonAddicted, Catlady45, gemsawesome, Sandrinha, Beasley, Covered in Bruises, avini, limodriver, emmrupe4ever, Luna Longbottom, Grown Up Ron, onlyjune, ravenclawgirl27, FightClub18, Penny Lane, KarateKid **and **vlaovic. **Man this was a lot easier when I had like 5 reviews a chapter lol (not that I'd want to go back to those days). However, I won't be dedicating this chapter to reviewer #200 **Athenais777 **because I'll be dedicating the next chapter to her, for two reasons: one, I probably owe a bit of next chapter to her, and two, I don't think anyone would want this particular chapter dedicated to them.

With that said, we are officially crossing the halfway point in this fic. And while it's been fun digging myself into this whole, I hope I'll be able to get us back out of it.

Per usual, thanks to my beta **superfan24 **for her work on the chapter and for FINALLY learning to remember to attach the actual chapters to her emails lol.

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><p><strong>CH16: Seeing Other People<strong>

_13 June, 1998_

"Hermione? Hermione!"

"Yes?" Hermione asked, looking up at David, the cook at Shangri-La Café.

"Your order," he said exasperatedly, inclining his head toward a waiting serving tray adorned with soup, salad and sandwiches, "for table three."

"Oh, right. Thanks," she said, feeling embarrassed at being caught daydreaming as she grabbed the tray and headed out of the kitchen. It wasn't like her to be so easily distracted, but today (oh who was she kidding, it wasn't just today) she couldn't seem to focus.

Hermione had only been working at Shangri-La for twelve days. The day after Nathan had shown her around Perth, she'd applied for serving positions at eight different restaurants and Shangri-La had been the only one to offer her a job; while she had a pretty-enough face and figure, her complete lack of experience and references didn't exactly make her an ideal candidate. But it was only waitressing: memorizing orders, carrying trays of food, keeping a smile on her face and a friendly tone in her voice as she served customers. How hard could it be?

As if some higher power wanted to punish her for her overconfidence, Hermione stumbled a few steps away from table three and her serving tray came crashing to the floor, spilling lobster bisque and broccoli soup all over an overturned tuna melt and a pulled pork sandwich.

Hermione cursed, her frustration usurping her usual decorum. It was her third spill in four days and her sixth overall and Alice, the manager, had told her any more broken dishes would be coming out of her pay.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said to her table as she bent down and scrambled to mop up the mess with the rag hanging from her apron, pushing the slop onto the serving tray. "I'm so sorry. I'm new and still getting the hang of this," she said, wondering how long that excuse would remain appropriate.

"It's fine," one of the gentlemen seated at table three told her, though it didn't look like he meant it. Both he and his companion were dressed in what looked like expensive suits and ties and his friend was checking his shoes to make sure she hadn't gotten anything on them. They were obviously very important—or at least thought of themselves as such—businessmen out to dinner after a long day at some corporate office. She guessed they didn't stand for mistakes or incompetence in their business dealings and probably appreciated it even less when it came to their meals. "Just…just bring us the bill for our drinks," he said, visibly frustrated.

"Sure," she said, hefting the tray full of what should've been their meal while trying to keep her voice even. "I'll be right back."

Twenty minutes later Hermione was sitting outside the café still in her uniform and apron, trying to convince herself this wasn't worth crying over. After mopping up her spill and bringing her table their change, Alice had told her to clock out and go home for the night. Of course, she couldn't go home yet; her parents would be there and they'd ask her what she was doing back so early in her shift. It didn't matter that their faces and words would be filled with sympathy and understanding; that would be worse than seeing the disappointment she deserved.

She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, a hero of the Second Wizarding War and a devout perfectionist. Not that anyone here knew those things about here, besides her parents and herself. It didn't change the fact that she felt worthless, completely mortified that she couldn't even manage to serve soup and sandwiches without bungling what should've been a snap.

"Where's a guy gotta sit in a place like this to get a girl as pretty as you for his waitress?" Hermione had been staring at her hands, picking at her cuticles, a nasty habit she usually only resorted to around exam time, but looked up at the sound of Nathan's voice to see him standing there in front of her, the wide, toothy smile she'd grown accustomed to adorning his face.

"Hey, why so glum?" he asked, catching her expression and red eyes.

"It's nothing," she told him, sniffling.

Nathan accepted this, knowing she'd tell him what was upsetting her if she wanted to. It was so different from Ron, who would needle her relentlessly, trying to pry the truth out of her no matter how stubbornly she refused to tell him. It was just one of the many ways they were so different.

Hermione pushed _that _thought aside. "What are you doing here? I thought you were studying?"

Nathan shrugged. "Needed a break I guess. So I went for a walk and wound up here. You on your break?"

She considered telling him yes, but her breaks were only fifteen minutes long and he usually stayed longer than that when he visited her at work. "I dropped another tray," she told him, letting her frustration at her mistake come out. "Alice sent me home."

Nathan frowned at her for a moment before the smile returned. "Then what are you still doing at the café? Last I checked you hadn't moved in here," he said, using humor to ignore the real issue.

"I didn't want to go home. My…Aunt, she'll ask me why and…"

"Hey, no problem. We can go somewhere else, catch a film, yeah? I'd say let's grab a bite, but I'm guessing you don't want to be around more food at the moment."

Hermione gave a small laugh. "Not really, no," she said, wiping at her moist eyes. "A film sounds good."

"Well c'mon then, mopey," Nathan said, grabbing her hand and pulling her up from the table she was sitting at. "Let's get you out of that apron and into someplace warm. You look a bit frozen."

Three hours later Hermione unlocked her front door and went inside her house, hoping her parents were already in bed. She and Nathan had seen _Life Is Beautiful _which they had found both funny and heart wrenching, though they'd had to suffer the company of the couple next to them whose only reason for visiting the cinema had clearly been to snog each others' faces off.

"Hi sweetheart," her mum said, appearing behind Hermione while she was locking the door again, making her jump. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. How was work?"

"Oh, it was fine," lied Hermione. "Lots of 'Would you like a refill' and 'Would you like chips with that.' The usual," she told her Mum, hoping her bored tone sounded convincing.

"I'm surprised you're home already. Didn't that boyfriend of yours come by to see you?" her Mum asked as she helped Hermione off with her coat before hanging it up.

"He came by but he had to get back to studying. You know his exams start Monday." Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "And Nathan's _not _my boyfriend," she insisted exasperatedly.

And he wasn't, not really. He certainly hadn't asked her to be his girlfriend. They hadn't even been on anything that constituted an actual date, though after he'd learned that she'd gotten a job at Shangri-La, he'd made a pattern of stopping in to see her every time she was scheduled to work, even if he usually spent his time studying at a corner table, only talking to her during breaks or flirting a bit when she came by asking if he needed a refill on water.

A part of Hermione wondered if something was wrong with her, if there was a reason all the boys who _seemed _to fancy her never came along at the right time. Actually, now that she thought about it, she'd never had anyone that constituted an actual boyfriend.

She'd certainly never called Viktor her boyfriend despite their date at the Yule Ball and their walks along the Black Lake and when they studied quietly in the library together. Of course, in that case it had probably been her own fault things with Viktor had never been more official. He'd certainly made the extent his feelings for her known, but it just been too much for her fifteen year old self. Mostly they treated one another as mere friends, friends who just happened to kiss on occasion. Not committing to anything with Viktor hadn't bothered her because it was easier to live with herself when she stretched the truth every time she'd told Ron about her Bulgarian pen pal whenever he questioned her. And more importantly, it had left a window open for Ron to move in if and when he ever stopped seeing her as just his bushy-haired know-it-all best friend and recognized his jealousy for what it was.

And with Ron…well he'd never actually asked her out officially either once they'd gotten together. That hadn't bothered her either since they'd been 'together' in every other sense: holding hands, snogging one-another silly, even sharing his bed as they explored one anothers' bodies. With everything else going on in the wake of the last battle, her wanting to be able to call Ron her boyfriend seemed shallow and childish and not worth distressing herself about.

But looking back on it now Hermione realized she _had _wanted him to say the actual words, to claim her as his girlfriend. It was silly and juvenile and very girly of her, but that was how she always felt around Ron. He was the only part of her life where she didn't mind some silliness and it was one of the many reasons she adored him.

_He told you he loved you didn't he? _the voice in her head reminded her. As if she could possibly forget. _What more could you ask for? What else could you need?_

The answer to that was everything; she _wanted _everything with him, she _needed_ Ron here with her, both now and always. But that wasn't an option at the moment. He'd made sure of that, so there was no point in wishing for it or dwelling on 'should have been'.

Hermione seemed to have a constant need to remind herself of this fact quite often, much to her heart's discontent. Since committing to staying with her parents, she'd done her utmost to keep busy to distract herself from such thoughts. The Australian Ministry had come through with Auror Gibbons bringing her all the necessary paperwork during one of his check-ins, permitting her to apply to U.W.A. as a transfer student. Now all she had to do was wait to hear whether or not she'd been accepted.

In the meantime, she had her serving job at the café to occupy her evenings and weekends. She'd also purchased two dozen texts to help her catch up on the Muggle subjects she hadn't taken since leaving for Hogwarts like math and science, determined to not just show up prepared come spring term, but to rise to the top of her classes. And Hermione had also been filling in as receptionist at her Mother's clinic three days a week to give Nathan more time to review for exams and earn herself a bit of spending money. And of course there was Nathan himself who probably provided the best distraction of all from thoughts of England, at least when he was around.

"I'm not sure if I like this boy," came the sound of her Father's voice as she and her Mum entered the kitchen. Obviously he'd waited up for her as well, as she found him sitting at the table going over some paperwork. Her Mum gave a fine impression of Mrs. Weasley, insisting she fix something for Hermione to eat after a long day of work despite her daughter's insistence that she wasn't hungry.

"Oh pish posh," Caroline Granger told her husband. "You hardly know the boy John."

"That's what I mean dear. He's dating our daughter but he hasn't bothered to sit down with us and explain his intentions toward her. We don't want him turning Hermione into some sort of scarlet woman do we?"

Her dad was joking of course. After Rita's article about the fictitious love triangle between herself, Viktor and Harry had come out fourth year, Hermione had owled her parents, venting to them about her frustrations concerning the whole affair. Sure, she'd been able to brush aside comments from Slytherins and the many witches and wizards that harassed her through post for the way she was abusing 'sweet and innocent Harry Potter,' but Ron's attitude concerning her relationship with Viktor Krum had been less easily ignored.

Her father had written back assuring her there was doing nothing wrong about her behavior, telling her that people would always talk if there was something worth talking about. And her mum had promised Ron's words were only an expression of jealousy and shouldn't be taken seriously. After that, Hermione had felt much better and by the end of the year she was nearly certain her mum's take on Ron was one-hundred percent accurate.

"Daddy, we are not dating," Hermione explained, wishing fondly for the days when her parents had been more concerned with her academic history than her dating history. Nathan and I…we're just getting to know one another."

"And there's nothing wrong with that," said her Mum, setting a plate of pie and mash she'd warmed up in front of Hermione, who reluctantly picked at the food for appearance's sake. "Nathan's a delightful boy, and quite handsome too, don't you think?" Mr. Granger made a face at his wife's words and Hermione let out a shrill "Mum", turning pink with embarrassment. "I'm only saying," explained her mum, wiping her hands. "Well I think I'll turn in. I have an early surgery in the morning. You're coming in tomorrow right sweetheart?" Hermione nodded. "Then don't stay up too late. You look exhausted and I don't want you falling asleep at the desk." She kissed her daughter goodnight and headed off to bed.

As soon as her mum was gone, Hermione passed the food to her dad who had no problem polishing it off for her; his hunger was one of the few traits he and Ron had in common.

"Are you alright Poppet?" he asked, picking a bit of mutton out of his teeth with a toothpick.

"Of course Daddy," Hermione said, realizing she'd probably answered a little too enthusiastically to sound believable. "Don't I look fine?"

John Granger looked into his daughter's eyes and Hermione shifted uneasily under his scrutiny. No one except Ron could read her as well as her Father, though for completely different reasons: her dad knew her inside and out because their minds were so similar, working through matters in the same, analytical fashion, while Ron…well Hermione had never understood what it was that granted him such keen insight into her mind. Sometimes he realized something was upsetting her before she herself was even aware that something was amiss, or at least he could when he wasn't being thick or purpose. It was just a part of who he was.

"I don't know," her Father told her softly after a moment's consideration. "You just seem…"

"What?" she asked, curious despite herself.

"Stalled…like a car motor."

Hermione didn't exactly feel flattered with being compared to the engine of a car, but she couldn't deny the truth of his statement now that she'd heard it aloud. It certainly explained her inability to focus at work, or at any other time for that matter.

She didn't know if it was her difficulty readjusting to life as a Muggle after an entire year spent using magic for everything, or simply the fact that she missed those she'd left behind…not that the two things were unrelated; one of the biggest reasons she'd put her wand away was because every swish or flick of her vine wood wand brought forth the image of red hair, disarming blue eyes and an infuriating but loveable lopsided grin.

Everything related to magic could be tied back to a memory of Ron…or Harry. Her best friends were as big a part of her as magic, and certainly more important to her than every spell she'd ever learned. And she couldn't stop herself from missing them any more than she could stop the rising of the sun.

"I'm just anxious to start Uni," she told her Father. "It's been so long. Even if you count Hogwarts, it's still been over a year since I've been in a class. I'm just a bit nervous I think."

"Well if that's all it is," said Mr. Granger, obviously unconvinced by her explanation. "I just want you to be happy." Hermione opened her mouth to tell him that she was, that she couldn't be more pleased to be there with him and her Mum, but he continued. "And I want you to be happy without having to talk yourself into it."

"What do you mean?"

Mr. Granger rubbed his brow for a moment before speaking. "I know with you off at that school so much these last few years, your mum and I haven't had many chances to spend time with you. But I still remember what you were like before you got that letter and that kind woman paid us a visit and finally explained to us just how special you really are. And right now you remind me of that little girl before she learned that magic was real."

"And what was I like back then?" she asked, very much interested in hearing how her dad remembered that time of her life.

"You weren't yourself," he said plainly. "Even when you seemed happy, it was always like something was missing. But when you came back from that school for holidays, we both could tell you'd found that last piece that completes your puzzle."

Hermione didn't say anything to that. Her father's words rang true, but she didn't know if she liked the idea that without magic, without Ron and Harry needing her there beside them, she was somehow less than whole. After all, her friends and magic didn't define her as a person. She'd spent nearly twelve years without either of those things, hadn't she? Maybe she hadn't been as happy as she was at Hogwarts, but she'd still been herself. She'd still been Hermione. Hadn't she?

"Well," said her dad, standing up, cleaning his plate and putting it away, "your mum's right. It's late and we both have things to do tomorrow." He wrapped his daughter in a strong hug. "Goodnight Poppet," he said softly.

Hermione squeezed back with all the strength she possessed, feeling reluctant to ever let go. She was so grateful that after everything, she still had her dad who loved her unconditionally.

Still, a little piece of her couldn't help wishing the arms that held her were covered with a faint pattern of spiraling scars and more freckles than one could count.

_22 June, 1998_

"So how did it go?" Hermione asked eagerly. It didn't matter that Nathan was the one taking the exams and not herself; just the idea of having the opportunity to test one's intellect and knowledge exited her.

"No problem," Nathan told her. "But Molecular Genetics is probably my best subject. It's Geochemistry and Neuroscience I've got to worry about."

"And those are the only two you have left?" she asked.

"No. I've got Composition as well. But that doesn't really matter. So long as I pass, it'll be fine."

Hermione would never understand the attitude of people that were 'fine' with merely passing a subject. Wasn't the whole point of classes to actually learn as much as possible? Just passing was practically the same as failing as far as she was concerned. But she kept her thoughts to herself. This was Nathan, not Ron or Harry whom she would've had no qualms about scolding for performing one-wit below their abilities. Not that her constant badgering and harping had ever done either of her best friends much good.

"So I was wondering…" Nathan started up. "I'll be all finished on Friday, and I thought maybe you'd like to help me celebrate."

"With your friends? I'm not sure if…"

"Hermione I told you, I don't really have any friends. Well, not any close ones at least. No life outside of work and Uni remember?"

"Oh. So it'd be like a date?" she asked hesitantly, remembering her parents' teasing comments.

"Not like a date. A date," Nathan said, flashing her another blinding smile that caused the slightest flutter in her stomach.

"Well I'm scheduled to work Friday," she said honestly.

"Then what about Saturday? Or Sunday? I'm not too particular on the day, just the company," he flirted, moving close enough to Hermione to put his hands on her waist.

Hermione felt her insides squirm at Nathan's touch as a face she'd been doing her best to put out of her mind swam before her eyes.

What would Ron think about Nathan asking her out on a date? More importantly, what did she think about it? He was so different from Ron, who'd been such a constant presence in her life for the last seven years. She'd always loved the way they'd challenged one-another, pushed one-another in direction they never would've explored on their own. They might bicker and disagree—more than was possibly healthy some might say—but they usually came out the other side for the better, learning something important, or at least something about each other, along the way. They didn't hold each other back, they pushed each other forward.

_And this time he pushed me all the way to Australia_, she thought bitterly. His actions spoke loud and clear. He didn't need her to push him anymore; he obviously didn't need her at all since he'd practically chucked her out the door when she'd offered to stay with him while his family grieved and tried to pick up the pieces in the wake of Fred's death. And apparently she didn't need Ron as much as she'd thought either. She'd wanted him to come with her, thought she'd needed him by her side for support, but had obviously managed perfectly fine without him. So why was she still hung up on him? Why did it feel like half of her heart was still back when her body was here?

_This _was where she was needed, where she was _now_. And Nathan was the one standing here with her, not Ron. And that was when Hermione stopped wondering if she was really making the right decision to stay with her parents, to stay where she was needed, where people _wanted _her.

"You think I'd have learned by now, huh?" Nathan laughed, pulling away from her.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"I mean how many times do you have to turn me down before I get a clue, before I get it?"

Suddenly Hermione hear those same words echo over the sound of pounding rain, accompanied by a flash of red. "_I get it. You choose him."_ Back then, Ron had given her a choice. It hadn't been much of one—stay where she was needed or go with the one she wanted—but she'd made it. This time he hadn't even offered her a choice; he'd made it for her. He'd abandoned her once before, and had done so again. And now she was going to make a choice of her own, and damn whether or not it was the right one.

"Yes," she said, looking up at Nathan.

"Yes what?"

"Yes I'd like to go on a date with you." Nathan's face lit up and he picked her up and swung her around until they were both dizzy, setting her down and staring at her expectantly, making her shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "What?" she asked shyly.

"Well, which is it?" I don't want to show up at some restaurant on Saturday and find you weren't planning to show up until Sunday. Don't want people thinking I've been stood-up. I have a reputation to uphold after all."

"Oh do you?" she teased. "Funny, as I thought I'd turned you down twice already."

"What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment."

"Or maybe just a little thick?" she said, smiling again. "So tell me, Mr. Non-social, where will we be going?"

"Nuh uh. That's a secret I'm keeping for the time being."

"Ooh, mysterious? Maybe I should talk to your television to see if there's anything I should know about you since you don't have any friends I can ask."

"If that's your attempt to invite yourself back to my place…" Nathan said suggestively. Hermione's eyes widened and she spluttered in her attempt to explain she wasn't implying _that _when he cut her off with a kiss. Only this time, she allowed it to deepen as his hand moved to her back and pressed them closer together.

Nathan released her lips. "Hermione, you know practically everything about me. _You're _the one who's so mysterious."

He was right. When they talked, trying to get to know one-another, Hermione always stuck to the subject of her future, insisting her past wasn't worth mentioning. She'd never liked lying and didn't want to have to keep track of all the cover stories she'd need to come up with to fill in the last seven years of her life.

"Right, sorry," she said a bit sheepishly.

"No worries. You'll tell me when you're ready."

_Not likely,_ she thought. As much as she liked Nathan, she doubted there'd ever come a time when she'd be comfortable telling him that she was a witch, tell him about Harry, about Ron. Breaking the Statute of Secrecy was a very big deal and not to be undertaken lightly. Witches and wizards were supposed to get permission from their Ministry, explaining why it was necessary such as in the case of marriage…and that was a possibility Hermione was in no way remotely close to thinking about.

"So?" said Nathan.

"So what?"

He looked at her amusedly, the same way Ron always did when—_No! This was Nathan she had her arms around, Nathan who had just kissed her, NOT Ron_. She didn't want to be thinking about Ron, was supposed to be doing everything to put _him _out of her mind and heart. "Saturday or Sunday?" explained Nathan, pulling Hermione out of her inner turmoil. "Or whenever you're free. Like I said, I'm not particular."

A part of her, the part that was very much aware that this _wasn't _Ron standing before her, would've liked to tell him she was free the day after never, but she was slowly getting better at tuning that part of her mind out, just as she'd mastered tuning Ron himself out over the years. She _liked _Nathan, was maybe even starting to _fancy _him and she thought she'd very much enjoy going on a _date_ with him.

"Let's make it Saturday," she said, smiling so widely her mouth hurt.

"Great. I'll pick you up at six."

"It's a date," she told him with a shy, uncertain smile.

_27 June, 1998_

Before leaving Gryffindor tower to meet Viktor for the Yule Ball, Hermione had gone completely spare, and not just because for the first time a boy was interested in her for something other than her ability to answer any question or recite every fact from any book she'd ever read, but because she was a _girl_. She'd been positively giddy but also terrified at the prospect of being seen like _that _in front of her friends, and the entire school to boot.

And Ron…well, they'd never had anything that could be constituted as an actual date. But as comfortable as she and Ron were with one another after seven years of friendship, she was still a little nervous around him. _But in a good way_, she thought. And she doubted that would ever change between then.

But as she readied herself to meet Nathan, she was decidedly not nervous. Excited, yes, but not nervous. And this confused her. However her mum seemed more than willing to make up the difference as she reprimanded Hermione on the simple and casual outfit she'd chosen half a dozen times, trying to get her daughter to change. Hermione only hoped her lack of nerves was a good thing, a sign that she was an adult, a grown-up going on a grown-up date with a grown-up boy, or man rather.

As she waited in the lounge however, she knew it wasn't her excitement or her lack of butterflies that had increased her distress tenfold over the last few days. It was because, unlike usual, she was allowing herself to dwell on thoughts of home, not the place but the people she'd come to think of as such over the past seven years.

How were Harry and Ginny getting on? Had they worked things out and gotten back together or were things still awkward between them? And unlike Ron, Harry had accepted Kingsley's offer. Had he started his training already? Was he only a month or two away from finding himself once again facing death and danger with only his wand to protect him? She knew he was a powerful wizard and could think of no-one better suited or better-prepared to be an Auror, but without her and Ron to help him, he would be facing those things completely alone for the first time.

Perhaps the strangest part of being in Australia was this complete lack of Harry. More than anyone, even Ron, Harry had been her one constant, had consumed her life for years. During those early summers she worried about him locked away with the Dursleys, feeling completely useless because of her inability to help him. She'd even considered asking her parents to adopt Harry once upon a time. She knew the Weasleys would've done so in a heartbeat but with seven children they weren't in the best position to take on another full-time, while her family was quite well off. She had always wanted a brother after all.

But of course her parents only knew Harry from her letters and what she shared with them over the holidays (which admittedly left quite a bit of the story out as she feared they'd withdraw her if they knew all the dangerous situations she found herself in because of Harry). He needed a real family, one that loved him. And the Weasleys were better suited to that, even if it could only be part time.

So she'd done her best while they were together at school. It never came quite as naturally to her as it did to Ron. So she let him cover things like making sure Harry was happy while she tried worrying about his safety and well-being. Sometimes she felt they were less Harry's friends and more like his parents: Ron the doting father who tried to be chums with his son, her the overbearing mother substitute filling in for Mrs. Weasley. In her wildest fantasies, she'd thought it was good practice for the day she and Ron would have kids of their own.

Of course, Harry didn't need her and Ron to be his pseudo parents. _He's fine_, she told herself. _He figured out the truth of the Deathly Hallows, he found a way to beat Riddle, he faced death itself, all on his own. He doesn't need me to be there to hold his hand anymore. And he has Ginny now. And he'll always have Ron_.

Ron. He still found a way to enter her thoughts several times a day, despite her best efforts. But it was only in a vague sense, not particulars; those were too painful think about. She wondered how he was coping with the responsibilities he was placing on himself, or at least said he would be after she left. It wasn't a lack of faith in him, but Hermione couldn't help but question what exactly he thought he would accomplish. Surely he knew his mum and George weren't going to just wake up one day and forget about the fact that Fred was gone and never coming back. And she wondered if it was more for his own sake than theirs. After all, if he spent his time worrying over his family, there would be no time to have to deal with Fred's death on his own terms.

Only she had seen him break down in his room after the funeral. What if he had another break down while she was gone? Would Harry know what to do? Would any of the Weasleys have time for him the way she would've made time? Would he even let it show or would he hide his pain away as he so often did until it consumed him and he lashed out, like he had in the tent?

_Stop it_, she scolded herself. _Ron's strong. He doesn't need you. He destroyed his Horcrux, he was the one who figured out to use the basilisk fangs, he was the one who found a way into the Chamber, was able to take down Greyback while she failed to defeat Bellatrix. _He'd even straightened Harry out, forcing their friend to come to terms with his lingering guilt. True, punching Harry wasn't the way she would've gone about things, but she couldn't argue that it had been more effective than anything she'd ever done.

_See, he doesn't even need you to deal with Harry anymore._ It was like after years of marriage, they'd split and Ron had been granted full-custody because unlike her he could provide everything Harry needed. She'd slowly realized that during those months in the tent without him. She and Harry just didn't balance each other the way he and Ron could, the way she and Ron could. Harry might've been their center, and Hermione their focus, but Ron was the glue; it may not look like much by itself, but without it, everything fell apart.

_He probably doesn't even miss me_, she convinced herself sadly. She wondered if he was disappointed in her lack of correspondence since her first and only letter, which now seemed ridiculously brief, even cruel. _That's assuming he's even noticed._ Of course she thought of writing him again, but what would she say now that so much time had gone by, after so much had changed?

The doorbell rang and Hermione got up to answer it and found Nathan, looking quite smart with his trousers pressed and his hair combed back. He'd even worn a tie.

"Hi," she said, feeling suddenly guilty for having been thinking of Ron only moments before: she just wasn't sure if it was Ron or Nathan she was feeling guilty over.

"Hi," said Nathan, leaning in to give her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. "Ready to go?"

She nodded. "Just need to let them know I'm leaving." She ran into the house to say goodbye to her parents.

"Not too late Poppet," said her father, only half-joking.

"Oh never mind that. Just have a good time sweetheart," her mother said.

Hermione smiled. It truly was a sight to see her mum like this, but she supposed any mother would be excited to see her daughter off on a date for the first time. She'd grown up so much over the years away from where her parents could watch, and here was one more sign she wasn't a child. "I won't Daddy," Hermione reassured him before kissing his cheek and giving her mum a quick hug.

Nathan took them to an Ethiopian restaurant, one that wasn't so expensive that she felt uncomfortable with the likely prospect that Nathan would probably be paying for her, but it certainly wasn't too shabby either.

_Ron would never go to a place like this_, she thought as they sat down and ordered some drinks. _Or maybe he would. That boy would eat just about anything after all. _It'd probably be quite fun to go out with Ron. He was so clueless about the Muggle world that even a trip to a supermarket was an adventure, as she'd learned when he'd come to stay with her before sixth year.

_Stop it. You're here with Nathan, not Ron_. And putting aside all thought of the red-head, Hermione began quizzing Nathan on how his last exams had gone.

By most standards, it was a wonderful first date. There were no awkward silences and they were laughing and talking so much they completely forgot about their food most of the time (though when she did remember to eat, Hermione found the food to be excellent). But while things went swimmingly while Hermione was the one doing the talking, whenever Nathan spoke up, she couldn't help but let her mind wander, giving his words only the minimal amount of attention they required.

She couldn't help but wonder whether she'd misunderstood what had happened before she'd left. Ron had spent days all but completely ignoring her. The last time he'd instigated something like that had been in sixth year right before he attached his face to Lavender Brown for the next three months. Of course after the fact she'd learned that it had all been because he'd learned she'd kissed Viktor, but at that point, they'd already made-up and who was at fault or why had hardly seemed to matter.

Then, after days of the cold shoulder, Ron had told her he loved her. And before she even had the chance to say it back he was telling her to leave and refusing to go with her. And of course there'd been that last night when they'd come so close to making love. Ron had actually been inside her for Christ's sake. And then he'd stopped; something she wouldn't have believed a teenage boy was capable of if she hadn't seen it for herself.

It was math really, simple math; just as she knew she and Ron had kissed exactly one-thousand-and-sixty-three times, she knew that three negative signs outweighed one positive sign, two if you counted the rose he'd given her just before leaving.

It was actually still sitting in a vase on her bedside table, a remarkable piece of magic. Though the color had faded from deep red to a pasty pink, it was still living after seven weeks. She didn't even know of a spell that could do that, though she was sure if she'd had her magic books with her, she could've found the answer.

"Hermione, are you even listening?"

Her eyes snapped to Nathan. She'd really let her mind run away that time, and she hoped her expression hadn't looked completely vacant. "What? Oh sorry? I drifted off for a moment. What were you saying Ron?"

"I-what?"

Hermione froze, digesting what she'd just said a moment too late. "I-I asked you to repeat what you said."

"No—"

"Yes I did."

"No, you called me Ron."

Hermione cringed inwardly. "What? No I didn't. That's ridiculous." She didn't know why she was being so insistent when Nathan had obviously heard what she'd said. It was doubtful she was going to convince him he'd misheard.

"I heard what you said."

"I…I'm sorry. It was just a slip of the tongue," she said, praying he let the subject drop.

"Who's Ron?" Nathan asked.

"What?" she asked, still trying to play dumb.

"Who is Ron?" Nathan said, enunciating each syllable very distinctly.

"He's…" she meant to say 'no one' but that was a lie she would never be willing to tell, even under current circumstances. "A friend," she supplied.

"A friend?"

"From back home."

Nathan just stared at her in disbelief.

"What?" she asked, not really wanting an answer.

"It's just, you never talk about England, or anything about your life before you came here last month.

"Yes, well…"

"…you have your reasons."

"Exactly," Hermione said, nodding, relieved he understood and could now move on.

"So who is he?"

"Who's who?"

"Ron, you wallaby. He's obviously someone important if you couldn't help let his name slip by accident despite all your secrecy."

"He…he is," Hermione admitted in a very small voice. "He is-was my best friend."

"Was?"

"Well…" she didn't know why she was still talking to Nathan about this; it was wildly inappropriate on so many different levels. But a part of her needed to finally talk about it a little. "When I came here, we didn't part on great terms exactly."

"What happened?" asked Nathan, sounding both concerned and curious. He was probably just grateful that she was opening up about something that it didn't matter what.

"He was supposed to come with me, but changed his mind at the last moment because he had…matters that were in greater need of his attention."

"And then you decided to stay?" Nathan parceled out, beginning to see the vague outline of the situation forming.

"Yes."

"How did he take that?"

"He doesn't know."

"What?" Nathan said, sounding almost indignant on Ron's behalf which was… completely barking considering he'd never even met Ron. Hell, if Ron had come, Nathan wouldn't even exist, at least not for Hermione.

"Well, I'm sure he's cottoned on by this point. He must have some idea."

"Wait—" interrupted Nathan. "You and your friend parted on bad terms, and you haven't had the chance to patch things up because you haven't even talked to him? Haven't even let him know you're not going back?"

"He…he could've found me. He could've written if he had something to say," Hermione reasoned. Thought it sounded quite lame, even to her ears, a part of her really did believe Ron would've found a way to talk to her, to write her, if he really wanted to. He'd found her and Harry when it should've been impossible to do so thanks to their enchantments. To her, it was just another confirmation that whatever Ron's feelings for her, they'd either been greatly exaggerated by her own or had already begun to fade after just a short time together.

"So could you."

"Yes." Hermione couldn't deny that. How simple it would be to just write to Ron and ask him his feelings, ask if he still loved her, to demand why he'd pushed her to leave when she'd made it clear she wanted to stay with him. Of course, she could've asked him all this in person before she left, but both options had the same problem; she simply wasn't willing to hear Ron say the words, tell her that not only did he no longer need her, he no longer wanted her either. Just the thought of it was too much to bear. It was her worst fear come true.

"He wasn't just a friend, was he?"

Hermione looked up to Nathan's face when he spoke. There was no anger there as he studied her, only realization. "No, he wasn't."

_11 July, 1998_

Hermione had no idea how she'd gotten through the rest of the date after that. She remembered how awkward the conversation had been after her admission, how Nathan had done his best to move past the subject, how she'd been no help. She'd actually hidden herself in the loo for fifteen minutes at one point, coming back to find Nathan had taken care of the bill and helped her put on her coat. It was a relatively warm evening and he suggested they walk back to her house. It was ridiculously early and Hermione was quite sure he hadn't planned for the date to end after dinner, but she couldn't say that she minded.

The walk back, however, was torture. Nathan did his best to be his usual cheerful self but Hermione remained downcast barely saying anything. She felt terrible over how awkward she'd made things and for how she'd gone and ruined what should've been a celebration, but couldn't bring herself to try and fix things.

At the door, she allowed him to kiss her again, but she didn't respond to his attempts to deepen the kiss, merely moving her lips mechanically against his for a moment before pulling back and wishing him goodnight.

After going inside and ignoring both her parents' questions about the date, Hermione had written a letter to Ron. She'd stayed up all night working on it, and its length put all of her letters to Viktor to shame. She'd tried to tell him everything that had happened since she'd left England, including both Nathan and her parents. She poured out everything she'd been feeling, not just since she'd been in Australia, but about everything she'd felt about him for years, about Viktor and Lavender, Harry and the tent, their wonderful days together at the Burrow and all their years of friendship that had led them to it.

It was a mess. There was no structure or discernable flow, and she'd have been ashamed if any of her essays at Hogwarts had been as scatterbrained and nonsensical as the letter was. But it was honest; it told him how much it had meant to hear Ron say he loved her, how hurt she'd been by his rejection that last night, how confused she was over his decision to stay behind and break his promise to her.

Which was why, after reading it over twice before she finally succumbed to exhaustion and once more in the morning after a restless night, she decided she could never send it to him. How could she? It didn't even ask him any questions, just stated her own feelings, which weren't clear even to herself. Of course she missed him and told him so fifty or sixty times, but she didn't know what she wanted to ask of him. Did she want to get back together? Yes, she wanted to be with him, but not if he didn't want her in-return. She didn't want him feeling trapped, obligated to be in a relationship with her out of some sense of duty, the same way he'd felt obliged to stay with his family during their mourning. And how could he want her after what she'd done?

She'd tried to make a life without him here in Australia, had kissed Nathan. If by some miracle Ron really was waiting anxiously for her return, certainly _that _would change how he felt. In sixth year, after Ron was poisoned and she decided to do her best to put aside her feelings on Lavender for the sake of their friendship, she'd truly believed nothing could ever really come between them. But how sure was she that Ron would feel the same way? And what did it say about their chances for anything _more_ if at the first sign she was running around looking for a replacement in Nathan?

Days passed. Everywhere she went, she found herself staring at every redhead that passed by, looking at them until their features changed and shaped themselves into Ron's. A few times she even fooled herself into believing it had actually been him, come all the way to Australia for her like she'd dreamt. But she was always disappointed in the realization that none of them had Ron's long nose or eyes as blue as his, swirling wells of emotion.

Now that his exams were finished, Nathan had gone back to working at her Mum's clinic full-time. He still came by to see her in the café and visited her house now and then, but already she could tell she was walling herself away from him, shutting him out. But she couldn't help but feel it was too little too late.

As a result, she ended up exactly as she feared, isolated and alone with no one to talk to. It had been her reason for letting Nathan show her around the city that first day, for not pushing him away when he first tried to kiss her, for kissing him back in an attempt to just have _someone_, anyone, even if it wasn't Ron. It had been Cormac all over again, only instead of using Nathan to hurt Ron, she'd just used him to make herself feel better, less lonely. But she'd used him just the same and he didn't deserve that any more than Ron deserved what she knew he would see as a betrayal, loathe as she was to admit it.

Ten days after their date Nathan had visited her during her break at Shangri-La, to make another overture to fix the awkwardness between them. He told her some people from his classes at Uni were throwing a party on Friday. She'd tried to beg off the offer, but he'd been insistent, telling her it was a good idea to meet some other people, get to know other students now so she wouldn't feel so lost when term resumed in a few weeks. And since he didn't know them that well either, they'd be in the same boat together. Ultimately she'd known he was right. She _had _missed him, and her loneliness was becoming unbearable so she'd reluctantly agreed.

As it turned out, Muggle parties (this being her first) weren't much different from those she'd attended in the Gryffindor common room after Quidditch matches—the main difference being everyone was drinking beer or other liquor much stronger than the Hogwarts students' preferred choice of butterbeer. Within ten minutes of arriving at the apartment where the party was being held, Hermione already knew it wasn't exactly her scene. Everyone there was happy and friendly and she, decidedly not. The few people that did try to start up conversations with her soon gave up as she'd never been well-suited to frivolity nor was she willing to talk about herself very much, making every conversation markedly one-sided.

"Hey," Nathan said, finding her sitting alone a half-hour after they'd arrived. Hermione was watching six others playing some kind of game involving playing cards, clapping, more swearing than she even thought Ron capable of, and copious amounts of liquor. "If you want to join in, just ask them," he said, following her eyes.

"I don't."

"You do. You're too tense. I can see it and this is just the thing to loosen you up a bit. Or are you afraid you might actually have fun?"

"I-I've never-I haven't…I've never gotten pissed before."

For the first time since their date, Nathan's brilliant smile appeared as he looked at her amusedly, a complete lack of surprise showing on his face. "You don't say?" Two weeks ago she would've smacked him for his teasing. Now, his words only coaxed the smallest of smiles from her. "Look, no-one says you have to get drunk. Just, don't purposely stop people from seeing how fun you really are. And if you do, well, I'll be here to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

She honestly didn't have anything to lose at the moment, and joined in the game at the start of the next round. She wasn't very good of course, and it took her quite some time to realize the point of the game was the drinking, and not actually winning, which no one seemed to care about. But it reminded her of time spent playing Quidditch with Harry, Ron and Ginny when no-one kept score or complained about how poorly she was doing, playing only for fun. And indeed, with each drink she consumed as a result of her poor playing, Hermione felt her tensions melt away, her aloofness disappearing. She looked to Nathan several times to mouth a silent 'thank you' to him, and he always smiled back, finally able to relax himself knowing that she was having a good time.

By the time people started heading home for the night or began clearing space on the floor to sleep for the night, Hermione was quite pissed. Although she insisted on staying, Nathan convinced her that she would regret sleeping on a hard floor come morning when the effects of the alcohol had worn off.

"But where are we going?" Hermione whined, her words only slightly slurred as Nathan pulled her along.

"I'm taking you home," he said, laughing as she stumbled a bit over her own feet which seemed to have tripled in size over the course of the evening, making it quite difficult for her to walk.

"You can't!" she protested. "My parents, they've never seen me pissed."

"That's because you've never been pissed," said Nathan, having consumed enough liquor himself to miss her little slip-up about her parents.

"Can't we go somewhere else, just for a bit?" Hermione asked desperately. She'd disappointed enough people lately, herself most of all; she didn't need to add her parents to that list. "What about your place? I've never seen been there before. Why haven't I been there?"

He laughed. "That's because you're a good girl, Hermione."

"What's that got to do with anything?" she asked, her hands on her hips, looking at him as if she'd found his words insulting. "I just-I can't go home like this."

"Well…" Hermione looked at Nathan. He seemed to be wrestling with an internal debate, but she couldn't see what the problem was. "Maybe I can make you some coffee. Help clean you up before I take you back to your aunt."

"Coffee!" she exclaimed. Nothing had ever sounded so good to her.

When they got to his apartment, Nathan gave her a short tour. The flat was small, only three rooms: a loo, a joint kitchen and living room and the bedroom, which was so messy it could've given Ron's room at the Burrow a run for its money.

"Sorry," he said, closing the door to the bedroom and leading her back to the couch and sitting her down. "Wasn't expecting to have company," he said, sounding embarrassed.

"You mean you don't have girls over here every night?" she slurred, utterly failing in her attempt to sound coy.

"Only pretty ones, and they're few and far between," he returned smartly and Hermione giggled at the notion that he thought her pretty, practically giddy from the effects of the alcohol and reprieve from loneliness the night had granted her. He left her there and went to make the coffee.

In the warmth and silence of Nathan's flat, Hermione found herself suddenly quite sleepy and laid down on the couch, promising herself she would only rest up for a moment.

"Hermione? Hermione?" Someone was shaking her, and she groaned,, throwing a hand over her eyes. She heard him laugh. "Come on, I've got coffee. Well, it's good enough to pass for coffee at least."

_That _got her attention and she sat up quickly. Too quickly, as the room started to spin when she opened her eyes and tried to focus.

"Woah there," Nathan said, reaching out to steady her, wrapping an arm around her waist and another across her back. "Easy now, don't overdo it."

She looked up at him through her half-closed lids, feeling disoriented. Where was she? How had she gotten there? She couldn't seem to remember anything but the throbbing in her temple and Natha's perfect smile, set between his lips, lips that looked soft and inviting.

"There she is," he said.

"Nathan?" she said softly as he reached out to move a few strands of hair out of her face, leaning in to his touch, feeling a warmth in her belly that had been absent for weeks now.

"Yes?"

And then, before another thought could form she was kissing him, kissing him like she was back in the heat of battle and feeling like they might only have a few more moments to live. And after a few scant protests, Nathan was kissing her back just as fiercely until he was pressing her down into the couch as his body covered hers and she could feel his growing arousal, tempered only slightly by his drinking earlier in the evening. She giggled when she felt it press against her stomach.

"What?" Nathan asked, pulling his face away from hers breathing heavily.

"I like it," she told him honestly. He looked at her, confused. "You asked me before what I thought of kissing you. And I-I like it."

His smile gleamed in the dark before his lips descended on hers once more.

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><p><strong>AN: **The chapter's title comes from the song "Seeing Other People" by Belle & Sebastian off their album _If You're Feeling Sinister_.

Well there it is people. That's the worst this fic has to offer. For once, I'm going to keep my mouth shut and not say anything about it. By this point you either trust what I'm trying to do or not. If not, you can read on and see if the rest of the story convince you, or we part ways and I thank you for reading up until now.


	18. CH17: Unfinished Sympathy

**A/N: **Another milestone: this story surpassed the 50 'Favorites' mark which is pretty awesome since Favorites are better than reviews in some ways. Though I've looked at a lot of your profiles and realized some of you aren't quite as selective in what you favorite as I am, so maybe I shouldn't be that excited. I was also pleasantly surprised that the reviews were pretty calm and fair for last chapter since I'd been expecting cries of outrage for the last chapter. But I guess most of those people dropped this story ages ago for the most part.

As promised, this chapter is dedicated to Athenais777. Why? See the author's note at the end.

And as always, mucho gracias (been practicing my Spanish. Bueno, si?) to my beta **superfan24 **for giving me the advice I need to hear and not hating me when I ignore it anyway. At least this chapter I'm pretty sure I made the right choice.

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><p><strong>Chapter 17: Unfinished Sympathy<strong>

_14 January, 1999_

Before she first came to Hogwarts, Hermione had never missed one day of class at the Muggle primary school she'd attended, not even when she was sick. Even at the age of eleven, it had been a source of pride for her. And when she'd received her Hogwarts letter, she'd been determined to continue her perfect attendance record. After all, she couldn't possibly afford to miss a single lesson; she was already so behind being Muggle-born (or so she'd thought). Of course, with magic involved, that record had come to an end second year with her Polyjuice mishap. And with things like basilisks, time turners, and unknown dark curses around, she'd missed a few more lessons over the years against her will.

But only once had she skipped a lesson on purpose: during sixth year when Ron was poisoned. After Lavender had learned he was laid up in the hospital wing, the blonde banshee had made it her sworn mission to keep Ron and Hermione from having a moment alone together, and made sure to stop in to see him during all of Hermione's free periods just to try and keep the know-it-all from moving in on her man. Hermione, tiring of sitting next to Ron's bedside with Lavender in the room while he pretended to sleep, had finally grown desperate enough to skip Arithmancy for the chance to talk to Ron alone while Lavender was stuck in Divination and wouldn't be able to interrupt them. Though it had pained her to skip her favorite subject, she had never regretted her decision.

Now however, it was four days into the start of the new term and Hermione had yet to attend a single class. Mostly she just lay in bed doing absolutely nothing, surviving on the food Kreacher brought her while everyone else ate in the Great Hall. Not that she could keep much down; she knew she was making herself sick and wondered how long it would be before they carted her off to the hospital wing, perhaps even kick her out of Hogwarts. But so far, the teachers and other students seemed to have left her alone. Well, all of them besides Ginny Weasley.

"Hermione?" came Ginny's voice. It was lunch time and the younger girl had obviously skipped the opportunity to eat to try and talk to Hermione while they had the dorm to themselves.

Hermione had no clue as to what Ginny knew about what had happened at the Ball, whether Ron had told her anything or if she'd pieced it together on her own. But she obviously knew something was up as the red-head had given her a sad and sympathetic look when they'd both arrived back at Hogwarts. Hermione had been grateful to Ginny at the time for respecting her privacy and not questioning her. But that had been five days ago and apparently Ginny was done waiting.

"Hermione?" Ginny tried again when Hermione didn't answer, and she felt the bed shift as her friend sat down. "Are you going to try and stay here forever?"

"No." Her voice was raspy from lack of use and it hurt to speak. At least she wasn't crying anymore; she'd gotten all her tears out that last week with her parents in Australia.

"Good. I reckon next year's occupants wouldn't fancy having to share the room with a corpse."

"I'm not dying, Ginny."

"Well you've certainly been acting like it. Never thought you were one to go in for the melodramac."

_This _was Ginny's attempt at cheering her up? Belittling her? "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well too bad. I'm not Harry or Ro—" Hermione turned and fixed Ginny with a death glare worthy of Snape at the mention of Ron's name, but her friend held fast under her gaze. "I'm just saying, you don't scare me. And you're not going to be able to ignore me into going away. I've given you time and space, but don't you think it's been enough?"

"No."

"Look," said Ginny, her voice suddenly as tender as her Mum's could be, even if she'd just finished screaming at her children, "I know you haven't been eager to talk about what happened with you and Ron," Hermione cringed at his name again, "with you leaving. And I let it alone because it wasn't really my business. And I was angry too," she said honestly. "But there's no way I'm going to sit here and watch you do this to yourself. I _know _it's not just your fault this time. So I'm not leaving until you tell me what my prat of a brother's done to you."

Hermione didn't know where they came from, how it was still possible to have any left, but small tears began to leak from her eyes, and she turned to hide her face from Ginny. "He hasn't…he didn't…it _is_ my fault."

"God Hermione. Look at you. There's no way I believe you did this to yourself. Ron—"

"He didn't do anything!" Hermione said as forcefully as she could muster. "I…I messed up. I just wanted him back, but I messed up and he knows. Oh god he _knows_," she wailed. It had been her only thought over the last few days of the Christmas hols. She hadn't even tried to think past that, tried to figure out how he knew or exactly what he knew about her and Nathan. The particulars didn't matter. It was enough that he knew, enough to convince her that Ron would never want to see or speak to her again; would never want her again.

"Hermione…if you just explained, maybe I could…"

"This isn't something you can fix Gin. It's over."

Ginny seemed to hesitate, and when she spoke, she sounded quite frightened of the question she posed, of what Hermione's answer would be. "Worse than you leaving for months? Worse than…than Krum?"

"Much."

"Oh, Hermione. Can't you…can't you just tell me what happened. I swear I won't get mad, or…or say anything to Ron. Or Harry," she added. Hermione didn't say anything. "It's another boy, isn't it? You were with someone else?" Ginny guessed and Hermione let out another sob, confirming her suspicion. "Hermione, how could you?" Ginny said viciously.

_So much for not getting angry_, Hermione thought wryly for a moment before she remembered that she deserved anything Ginny threw at her—literally and figuratively—and more, besides.

"I know," Hermione choked out.

"I mean of all the stupid, idiotic, brainless—"

"I think I get it," Hermione interrupted morosely. "I think I can berate myself for my mistakes well enough on my own, thank you very much. What do you think I've been doing in here for the last five days."

"Right," said Ginny, sounding admonished. She didn't apologize, but she seemed to understand that now was not the time and place to vent her frustrations on behalf of her brother. "And you told him at the Ball?"

"He already knew," Hermione sobbed.

"But how?"

"Does it matter?" Hermione couldn't see how it could. Before the ball, she'd been able to convince herself that they were moving toward something, been able to pretend that everything with Nathan had never really happened. Sometimes, she thought about how she would have to tell Ron eventually and fretted over what his reaction would be, but mostly she'd fooled herself into believing that if she could get Ron back first, the past, her past, wouldn't matter anymore. They would get through it like they'd gotten through everything else.

It had been naïve and foolish, but she understood why she'd done it now; Ron would never have been okay with the fact that she'd kissed another boy, that she'd _been with_ another boy, that she'd cheated on him with someone else. It didn't matter if she explained her reasons till she was blue in the face. Her words would only be excuses, and poor ones at that.

"So that's it then?"

"That's it," Hermione agreed.

"Well fuck you then," Ginny said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Hermione said, finally turning over again to look at Ginny through her tears.

"Look. I won't lie. I'm furious with you for doing that to my brother. If Harry had done it to me, I know Ron would kill him for me. And that's exactly what I want to do to you. It doesn't matter that were friends or if you have some explanation for what happened. The bottom line is you've hurt Ron, more than I ever imagined you could."

"But that really doesn't matter anymore. It happened, and you obviously regret it. But lying here moaning about how you ruined the best thing in your life isn't doing anyone any good, especially Ron."

"So what? You're saying I should try and convince Ron to forgive me? Try and win him back?"

"No," Ginny said flatly. "Even if that were possible, I really don't like the idea of you getting another chance of messing my brother around. But if you ever really did care about Ron as much as you claim you did, then you should want to try and set things right. Not for you, but for him."

"Ginny, this isn't something I can fix."

"Maybe not, but I never knew Hermione Granger not to try simply because someone told her it was impossible. Because if you just give up, you won't just lose Ron; you'll lose me too, maybe even Harry. _That's _not the girl I knew," she said, pointing a finger at Hermione. "That's not the girl I've shared my room with for five years now. That's not the girl who helped me find a way to show Harry what he was missing out on, who encouraged me to try out for Quidditch when all my brothers would've laughed at me, who fought with me against Bellatrix."

The sound of students back from lunch to collect their books for the afternoon's lessons could be heard through the door, and Ginny took a breath and lowered her voice, though her eyes were still blazed intensely. "Look, you're going to do what you want. I just figured what you'd want would be to fight for Ron."

"I do," Hermione said desperately.

"Then don't make his decision an easy one by giving up before you even try."

"Why are you trying to help me? I thought you said I didn't deserve another chance with Ron."

"Not if it were up to me, no. Lucky for you though, it's not my decision. It's Ron's. I know you and Harry are his best friends, but I've known him my whole life. I watched him miss you all summer and I know how much he cared about you. And most importantly, I _know _he's not completely over you. So if you're just going to give up on Ron now, then I can't really feel sorry for you. If you're just going to lie here and waste away and pity yourself, then I'm glad Ron rejected you. He deserves better than that. _Or _you can find a way to prove me wrong, and show Ron that he was right in giving you his heart the first time," Ginny said, standing. "Now, I'm going to Charms. Should I save you a seat?"

Hermione wanted to say yes, wanted to prove the girl from Australia wasn't her, but she wasn't sure she was ready to start fighting right at that moment. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea that _maybe _there was the slightest chance that she could fix things between Ron and herself, if not for their sake, then at least for his. So she shook her head.

Ginny walked over and waved her wand to unseal the door which she'd apparently locked upon entering. She turned back to look at Hermione one last time and Hermione saw her wipe what might have been a tear from her eye, though it was probably just a speck of dust. "If Ron knew what you'd done all this time and still went to the ball with you, it has to mean he was still fighting for you both. It's just too bad he's fighting for something not worth his efforts." On that note, Ginny opened the door and left Hermione there, somehow feeling even guiltier than before.

_15 January, 1999_

Hermione managed to attend classes the next day, although she obviously wasn't back to normal as she didn't raise her hand once in lessons and failed to transfigure her mouse into a cow despite the fact that Professor Blake had taught them the spell before Christmas and Hermione had unsurprisingly mastered it immediately.

Potions hadn't been much better, with Professor Slughorn confessing Hermione the first component of Veritaserum she'd been brewing should've been a rich mahogany color instead of the burnt orange hers had turned, telling her she must've added some spine of lionfish by mistake. It was a disaster she'd been unable to undo and would have to start over next lesson, which put her seriously behind as the potion would require an entire lunar phase to mature.

Not that Hermione much cared; her mind was on more important things than Potions. Of course, she still didn't see what she could do to fix her situation with Ron, not with her at Hogwarts and him all the way at the Burrow or working in Diagon Alley. Once again, she was back into the situation where her only option was writing to him to try and explain herself, but this seemed a bleaker and more useless prospect than it ever had in the past. Even if she owled him, there was no way he'd bother reading it; she needed him there in front of her so she could force him to listen.

"Miss Granger, a word please?" said Professor Slughorn as everyone began packing their things at the end of the lesson. Hermione stayed behind as the other students filed out and approached Slughorn's desk, ready to apologize for her abysmal performance during the lesson.

"I've been in touch with Walter Portsmith over the holidays, and he's informed me that he's very anxious to snatch you up for his department."

"He has?" Hermione was surprised. With everything that had happened at the Ball, she'd completely forgotten about her discussion with the Head of the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures at the Christmas party.

"Oh, yes. He's quite taken with you. As am I," Slughorn chortled. "As am I. In fact, he let slip a little rumor that the current Junior Director has put in for a transfer into another department, and asked me to inquire as to whether you'd be interested in the position."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. A Junior Director was only two steps away from the Head of the entire department. Even Percy had started out in a much lower position and his resume was just as decorated as Hermione's, outside of her position as a war hero, of course.

Slughorn must've read her thoughts. "Of course, the fact that you aren't taking Care of Magical Creatures could be a bit of a hindrance, as the position usually requires a minimum of five years experience in the department or an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in the subject. But I think with old Portsmith's support, your, ah, let us say _reputation_, and a glowing recommendation from myself, the position would be quite within your grasp."

"I'm not sure what to say, sir," confessed Hermione, still processing everything she'd just been told.

"Of course, of course. Take some time to think about it. Excellent idea to consider other options. You'll be sure to let me know if anything else strikes your fancy, of course?"

Hermione nodded her agreement, and Slughorn sent her off for the day. Hermione decided to skip supper in the Great Hall—attending classes was one thing, but she still didn't see the point in spending time around other students, all of whom lacked the propriety not to act so happy and carefree while she was felt so miserable—and went back to the dorm to think. While a large part of her wanted to try and come up with ways to make headway with Ron, she still couldn't see any avenues toward winning his forgiveness. At the moment the Junior Director position was a much more appealing matter to consider, especially since there was much less chance she'd break out in tears when she thought about it than the red head she was in love with.

Still, the job wasn't without its problems. She certainly didn't like the prospect of getting the position due to her fame and Slughorn's connections rather than her own merits, especially if there were others already in the department who deserved the position more. How could she expect to work alongside the people she'd leapfrogged? Portsmith had already made it clear he thought her ideals and opinions naïve and unrealistic, and what chance would she have to earn the support she'd need from the rest of the department if they saw her as someone like Ludo Bagman: handed a position not because she'd earned it, but because her name would bring attention to Portsmith and the department?

For the moment Hermione decided to keep the matter to herself. She doubted Ginny would appreciate her putting her energies into anything other than her brother at the moment, and Hermione didn't want to give the impression that Ron came second to anything in her life. It was that attitude that had lead to half their misunderstandings in the past, and she truly couldn't afford to make any more mistakes where he was concerned.

As it were, it seemed that some higher power had decided Hermione didn't have enough on her plate at the moment. When she returned to the common room after rounds with Andrew the following evening, she found a ministry owl tapping at the window, carrying an important-looking envelop addressed to her, though upon reading the letter, she found it surprisingly personal.

_Hermione,_

_I am not sure if Harry or the Weasleys have informed you that the Malfoys' trials have been set to begin this month. I recall during our conversation last May that you did not express an opinion on the matter and wonder if perhaps you wish to do so now. _

_There are very few living witches and wizards able to provide testimony on the Malfoy's activities during the last year of the war. Harry and Ron have both conveyed their desire in speaking as witnesses and you and I both know the two don't exactly see eye-to-eye on the matter. The three of you unfortunately now carry a heavy influence in the wizarding world, and whatever the two of them say will go a long way in helping the Wizengamot toward their verdict._

_While I understand you are busy with the start of your final term at Hogwarts, I urge you to consider attending the arraignment next Wednesday at the very least, if not for the sake of the greater good, then for the sake of your friends. I always had the impression that it always took the three of you together to find a middle ground and fear this occasion will be no different._

_Your friend,_

_Kingsley_

If she was truly honest with herself, Hermione cared very little for the greater good at the moment. The potential job offer had served as a reminder of how the Ministry had snubbed Remus and Dobby, and she felt no obligation toward helping them. She also didn't much fancy offering testimony about what had happened to her at Malfoy Manor. That was an experience she'd done her best to forget and she'd rather not relive it in front of an entire courtroom.

However, when she shared the letter with Ginny the next day, her friend pointed out the obvious opportunity attending the Malfoys' arraignment would provide her with: a chance to speak to Ron in person. As soon as Ginny had mentioned it, wheels began to turn in Hermione's head excitedly. Of course he probably wouldn't want to see her, but he wouldn't be able to just get up and leave if he wanted to have his own say in the trial. And if she just happened to take his side over Harry's for once, perhaps he would see her commitment to making him a priority. He wouldn't even be able to call her out on it because, as Kingsley had said, she hadn't expressed her opinion on the matter before.

Sod the Malfoys, and the Ministry for that matter; she wasn't going to pass up any chance to speak to Ron face to face.

_20 January, 1999_

Though Headmistress McGonagall seemed quite reluctant to agree after her shaky first week back, Hermione managed to get permission from Professor McGonagall to leave Hogwarts the day of the arraignment as well as the use of her personal Floo to do so.

After acquiring her visitor's badge stating her business at the Ministry, she made her way down to the courtrooms. As anticipated, the Malfoys' trial wasn't being kept quiet like those for Harry, Ron and Hermione had been, and the place was a bustle not only of reporters, but many random witches and wizards with enough pull at the Ministry to get themselves inside, either to relish the end of the Malfoys' good fortunes or to lend their support to their fellow pure bloods. As if confirming Kingsley's belief that the wizarding public would be very interested in hearing the trio's views on the Malfoys, Hermione found herself barraged by the press, questioning her on why she was there and what she hoped the outcome of the trial to be.

Thankfully, some strange force grabbed hold of her and pulled her through the crowd and into a private waiting room where she learned her unseen savior to be none other than Harry under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Thanks Harry," she said, taking a moment to fix her disarrayed appearance. "It's quite a mess out there, isn't it?"

"It's a madhouse," came another voice and Hermione turned to find herself face-to-face with Ron and was sure her heart stopped for a moment. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn't help but think how good he looked when he cleaned himself up, how handsome and, surprisingly, calm he seemed to be considering the way he'd left her after the Ball.

She didn't hesitate, didn't care that Harry was there too; she had come here for Ron and there was no sense in wasting time. She needed to figure out just how upset he was before she went about trying to fix things between them. "Ron I—"

"Can we do this later?" Ron said, cutting her off. "We've only got ten minutes before this array mint or whatever's supposed to start. Not really time to get into anything," he said, fixing her with a look.

"No, I suppose not," Hermione admitted before falling into silence. _One opportunity wasted already_, she checked off mentally, regretting not thinking to arrive earlier to give her more time with Ron.

"So, how are…things?" Harry asked her when the awkwardness in the room became unbearable.

"Oh. Alright I suppose," she said.

"That's good."

After that none of them tried talking again. To Hermione, the remaining minutes spent in silence in the room seemed more unbearable than the Cruciatus Curse. Intellectually she knew that was an exaggeration, but it certainly didn't feel that way. She was literally bursting to say something to Ron, to just apologize at the very least no matter how ridiculously inadequate it might be. But he'd asked her not to, and it was probably best to listen to him for the moment.

Finally Harry poked his head out the door. "They're going in," he announced and the three of them followed the crowd into Courtroom One. Unlike their own trials, the room was completely packed and Hermione found herself squished tightly between Harry and Ron. Though she couldn't bring herself to mind the fact that she was so physically close to Ron, she was surprised to find it didn't seem to bother him, either. But she didn't have long to think on this peculiarity as the Malfoys and their solicitor entered the room, followed shortly by the full Wizengamot including Kingsley, Mr. Ogden, Percy and Robert Quinn from the Ball. Hermione, however, was more interested in examining the expressions of the accused. Lucius looked defiant as ever, seeming to sneer at everyone in the room despite his limp hair and his skin looking even more sickly than it had appeared during their short stay in his home. Narcissa by contrast was the picture of perfection, looking as extravagant as ever despite being under house arrest and her Gringott's holdings frozen for the past eight months. And Draco…well Draco didn't look scared or smug or like he was trying to put on the appearance of innocence like his mother; he looked like a man whose fate had been decided long ago, like he'd already resigned himself to the executioner's block. And despite everything that had happened between them in the past, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy.

The proceedings began. Unsurprisingly the Malfoys' solicitor, a man by the name of Bryant Blishwick, seemed to have done his homework as he immediately brought up article J under section 87 of wizarding law, which stated no witch or wizard could stand trial for a crime more than once. As Lucius had been tried once at the end of the First War and again after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, this meant neither he nor his family could be charged with any crimes committed before his break-out from Azkaban. However all three of them still faced a number of other charges including but not limited to accessories to the murder of Charity Burbage, several counts of kidnapping, assault, possession of stolen property, and obstruction of justice.

While Narcissa had no exclusive charges leveled at her, Draco had several. While he was not charged with attempted or accessory to the murder of Albus Dumbledore thanks to information Harry had already shared with Kingsley and the Ministry about Snape and Dumbledore's plan, he was charged with accessory to assault for the part he'd played in granting Death Eaters access to Hogwarts, two counts of reckless endangerment for the injuries he'd caused Ron and Katie Bell, and the use of an Unforgivable Curse on Madam Rosmerta. Finally he was charged with being a Death Eater, something Lucius avoided by having been convicted of the matter in the past and Narcissa was exempt from by virtue of her lack of a Dark Mark.

Meanwhile, thanks to his technical immunity for most of his past crimes, Lucius had only one exclusive charge leveled at him: escape from lawful custody.

Finally when all the charges had been read, Mr. Blishwick declared that his clients would plead innocent to all charges. Hermione heard Ron snort in derision, and couldn't help but agree with the sentiment as Mr. Ogden declared that the trial would begin the following Monday. Harry leaned toward her and Ron and whispered for them to follow him back to the waiting room they'd used earlier.

"That slimy fuck!" Ron shouted when the three of them were once again in privacy as he kicked a chair so it screeched across the floor. Hermione reprimanded him for his language, but like always he ignored her. "That cocksucking leech! After everything he's done, all he's getting charged with is some accomplice bullshit?"

A big part of Hermione agreed with the spirit, if not the words, of Ron's protest. "I've read about that article granting Malfoy immunity for his past crimes. It was put in place after the last war, and I'd bet anything it was probably pushed through with his support in the first place. Lucius had to have known a lot of people didn't believe he was as innocent as he acted so he made sure the Ministry couldn't come back and charge him again if they found more evidence. It's probably why your Dad was always so eager to raid their Manor. Finding something dark or dangerous would've at least been some way to exact justice, even it was only a fraction of what he deserved."

"What do you think about this?" Ron growled, turning to Harry, and Hermione braced herself as her stomach twisted into a pretzel Harry, however, didn't bite and merely turned to face her.

"What happens now?" Harry asked her, his tone calm and collected.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, that solicitor Blishwick entered a plea of not-guilty on all counts. I'm guessing he's built a case around trying to prove that the Malfoys were coerced into serving Riddle against their will. Of course, that won't do much for the charge against Lucius for escaping Azkaban, but I think the penalty for that is only another year or two in prison at most."

"A year or two? That's it?" Ron crowed.

"Won't it be really difficult to prove that they didn't have a choice?" Harry asked. "I mean they weren't under the Imperius or anything."

Hermione nodded her agreement. "Their defense will probably be built around two things. First, they'll probably try and get testimonies from other Death Eaters in the Ministry's custody, to corroborate their story. But the Malfoys are the last to be tried. None of the others had the resources or connections to stall things out so long before getting to this point. So there won't be anything in it for them to help the Malfoys since they're already in Azkaban. And when has a Death Eater ever helped someone else when there wasn't something in it for them in return?"

"And the other part?" said Harry, sounding very curious.

"Character witnesses," Hermione explained. "Blishwick will try and find people to testify on all the supposedly good they've done over the years that _proves _the Malfoys are really good people at heart that couldn't possibly have done those things of their own free will."

"But-but-but…" Ron spluttered, grasping for what he wanted to say. "Everyone KNOWS Lucius was a Death Eater. He was in Azkaban for it. How can anyone get up there and say otherwise?"

"Gold. What else? The Malfoys have loads still. They can make huge promises to anyone willing to lie for them." Hermione saw how dejected Ron was at the idea that gold could once again save Lucius Malfoy's neck. "It's still a long shot, Ron. Remember, Kingsley's in-charge now. He's going to do his best to get a conviction."

She looked to Harry for support and saw he appeared very contemplative. After a few moments where no-one spoke, Harry excused himself to the loo, telling Ron they could head back to the Burrow when he got back.

As soon as he was out the door, Hermione turned back to the real reason she'd come today. "Ron—"

"At least there's no way Draco's getting off, not with all those different charges," Ron said, seeming to have not heard her. "And an Unforgiveable, too. Even if that snake solicitor gets him off for everything else, that's a life sentence right there."

Hermione considered reminding Ron it wouldn't matter what Draco had done if they could prove he'd been coerced by force, but she really didn't want to waste these few precious moments before Harry returned talking about Malfoy. "Ron I wanted to talk to you about what you…said. I want to try and explain."

"Not now," he told her, his voice strangely free of any anger.

"Please, just give me a chance to apolo—?"

"I said _not now_. I really don't want to talk about it anyway." He turned his back to her, as if that made it possible for him to forget she was even there.

Well, she could understand that at least. It was everything else about him she didn't understand. "Why aren't you angry with me?" she asked bluntly.

"I am."

"No, you're mad at what just happened in the courtroom, not at me."

"So now you're telling me how I feel?" Ron snapped, turning back around to face her.

"No!" Hermione cursed inwardly. "I'm just-I mean I'd understand if you were. You-you have every right to be. I deserve it, d-don't I?"

"Don't cry," he ordered.

"I wasn't going to," she lied, turning away from him in case a few tears did manage to escape.

"Well good."

"Why won't you let me explain?" she asked him, still facing the wall.

"Why should I? What good would it do? It's not going to change anything except make me angry. Been there, done that. Thanks, but I've had enough of that to last me Nicolas Flamel's lifetime."

Hermione didn't like this. She wanted to rejoice at the notion that Ron didn't _want _to be angry at her, but it only gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. He had _been_ angry, he'd just moved past that. And if he'd managed to calm down, that meant he'd come to a decision; he'd already made up his mind before even hearing her side of things.

"I'm really sorry," she said, ignoring his earlier demand. "You have no idea how much I regret—"

The door opened and Harry came back in, oblivious to what he was interrupting. "Ready to go?" he asked Ron.

Hermione panicked. She'd accomplished nothing coming here today. And if Ron left now…

But apparently Ron wasn't ready to leave, but not for any reason to do with her. "Where'd you go?" he demanded.

"I told you. Loo," said Harry.

"Then why does it feel I'm being lied to?"

"Maybe you need Legilimency training," Harry joked. But Hermione noticed something suspicious about Harry as well. He hadn't said anything since the arraignment except to ask her about the Malfoys' defense. It was very peculiar considering Kingsley had expressed concern that Harry and Ron would butt heads today over their differing views.

"Like I need it with you," said Ron. Then, his eyes widened before narrowing to glare at Harry. "You went and talked to that Blishwick fellow, didn't you?"

"Of course not. Why would I do that?" Of course Harry's protest only helped convince Hermione that Ron's suspicion was correct, and she decided to intercede before anything happened, deciding it would be best for everyone to just be open and honest. There was no room for lies and deceit between friends as she knew too well.

"Why Harry?" she asked, trying to sound understanding and not accusatory.

"She saved me," he said simply, seeing the jig was up. "And Draco didn't kill Dumbledore when he had the chance. And you were both there when he tried to cover for us when those Snatchers brought us in."

"For all the good it did," Ron said venomously.

"At least he tried. He's not evil Ron."

"Bullshit! He didn't lift a finger to help us, didn't do anything when _she_," he pointed at Hermione, "was tortured right in front of him! Fuck Harry, you and I were both there in the Slytherin common room when he told us he wanted her dead! That was in second year and you're telling me he's not evil? Just because he didn't have the spine to be the one pointing the wand doesn't mean he cared if mummy or daddy cast a killing curse."

"Ron this isn't just about Hermione," Harry said, trying to stay calm, though Hermione saw his fists were clenched. Was that what Ron's problem was? He needed Draco to be punished for what he'd done—and hadn't done—to her? As wrong as it was, Hermione felt herself brighten a bit at the idea, before she felt sick with herself. "This is bigger than that."

"I know it is," Ron retorted. "There's also Ginny, or have you forgotten that it was his dad that gave her the diary that almost killed her? Or what about Luna? Merlin knows what he helped those bastards do to her. Or how he led the Death Eaters the night Sirius died? Forgotten that, have you? Or how Malfoy poisoned me, or when he came for us in the Room of Requirement? It goes both ways Harry. It's all bloody well and good you've forgiven them, but how about everyone else they've hurt? This is bigger than you too."

"Look, I'm not saying his dad isn't evil. But Malfoy, I really don't think he had a choice. He had to do those things to try and protect his mum. And she saved my life. You can't argue with that."

"Excuses!" Ron shouted.

"Look," said Harry, trying to remain calm one last time. "I get where you're coming from. Really. But what good will it do? Say they go to Azkaban. If this solicitor does his job—and if he's the one the Malfoys picked, he's probably the best there is—then it won't be forever. Eventually he'll be free. Then what? What if he starts a family one day? Raises his children with the same prejudices his parents raised him under. An act of compassion now could change generations in the future."

"Act of compassion? Is that what you call it?"

"What would you say then?"

"How about the stupidest thing you've ever done?" retorted Ron.

"He didn't know any better!" Now Harry was shouting as well, his restraint finally broken. "It's all he knew, all he was ever taught. What chance did he have to turn out different?"

"Malfoy didn't turn out evil—"

"He isn't evil."

"Whatever. Malfoy didn't turn out to be the world's biggest prick because of his parents. If that's all it was, then why didn't Sirius turn out to be a Death Eater, huh? He was raised same as Malfoy and he knew better. Don't forget, I saw Snape's memories too! I saw Sirius that first day on the train with your dad. He knew the difference between right and wrong when he was eleven years old, so why did it take Malfoy eighteen years to figure it out?"

Harry had no answer for this, and honestly, neither did Hermione. While she understood Harry felt himself in Narcissa's debt for some reason, she couldn't fault Ron's argument. The excuse of how he was raised only went so far when it came to Draco.

"I…I need to go to the Auror Office. I'll see you back at the Burrow later," Harry told Ron. He gave Hermione a curt nod and left without another word.

Hermione looked to Ron, her heart aching to see him fighting with Harry over something he obviously believed in so strongly. This wasn't like their past misunderstandings. This was different and it couldn't come at a worse time. She and Ron were already so messed up, and now he and Harry couldn't even speak civilly to each other either.

"Ron—"

"I'm not wrong, so don't ask me to go apologize. Harry's being an idiot."

"No, I wasn't..." she hesitated, then plunged onward. "I agree with you." And surprisingly, she meant it.

"You do?" he asked, seemingly as surprised as she was.

Hermione nodded. "But I understand Harry's point of view. He was raised by the Dursleys. If he hadn't been able to get away from them at Hogwarts or with your family, who knows how he would've turned out?"

"He'd be the same," said Ron confidently, and Hermione warmed. Maybe things between her friends weren't as broken as they seemed. "Harry would've never turned out like Malfoy."

"Of course not."

"You're not just agreeing with me so I forget what happened are you?" he asked, looking at her suspiciously.

His distrust stung, but she knew it wasn't unwarranted. It didn't matter though. She really did think Ron was spot-on in his assessment. "No, I'm not," she said, meeting his gaze, hoping he saw the truth in her eyes. "You're quite clever when you want to be, you know."

"Well it'd be pretty hard to be as thick as I look."

"Ron," Hermione started.

"Right, sorry. Old habits" he explained, looking away after a moment and moving toward the door. "I need to go by the shop before I go back to the Burrow. Take…take care, alright?" he said, looking at her once last time. She nodded and smiled at him, but he didn't smile back.

_27 January, 1999_

The trial began the following week. Though it meant her evenings were spent making up for missed morning lessons, and even though she'd decided not to testify herself, Hermione had attended each hearing out of genuine interest to see the outcome and the more selfish desire to be close to Ron who at least seemed more tolerant of her company than Harry's at the moment. He had, however, made it clear she wasn't to try and talk about _things _between them. While she wasn't about to give up simply because he'd asked her to, she'd decided to acquiesce to his request for the time being.

As she'd anticipated, the Malfoy case became less about the evidence of what they had or hadn't done and more about what people had to say about them. Mr. Ollivander spoke against them, describing his captivity at their home, even providing memories of conversations he'd overheard that lent credence to their willing support of Riddle's side. Ron gave his version as well. And even Professor McGonagall gave her opinion on Draco having watched him for seven years, sharing some of the cruelties he'd inflicted on his peers at school, especially during his time on the Inquisitorial Squad.

But some of the Malfoy's defenders were just as respected, and Hermione guessed some of their testimonies hadn't been coerced out of them by gold or other promises. Not only was a great deal made of Harry's speaking in the family's defense (the fact that Narcissa had saved Harry was something Blishwick made sure to remind everyone of as often as possible), but Andromeda Tonks surprisingly defended her sister, as did Luna Lovegood, whose testimony and perspective as a victim seemed to move the Wizengamot when she told them she never witnessed any of the Malfoys taking pleasure in following Riddle's orders, making the point that during her stay it had been Bellatrix who'd called the shots, not Lucius.

All the witnesses had been heard from. Tomorrow, both sides would present their closing statements and the Wizengamot would announce their verdict the follow afternoon. Hermione honestly had no clue what the result would be; she only hoped both her friends and the wizarding world as a whole would be able to come to terms with the decision.

"Miss Granger, if possible, I'd like a moment after class?" asked Professor Blake when the bell rang signaling lessons were at an end for the day. Ginny asked Hermione if she should save her a spot in the Great Hall for dinner, but Hermione declined; while she'd finally resumed taking her meals with the other students, she was too nervous about the verdict of the trial to be interested in food and welcomed the excuse to skip a meal.

"I was about to take my evening walk and wondered if you'd do me the pleasure of joining me?" Professor Blake asked to Hermione's surprise. She agreed and, after returning her books to her dorm and donning her cloak, she met him in the Entrance Hall and followed him out onto the silent grounds.

"I'm glad to see you've returned to your usual standards in both Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said, startling her in breaking their twenty-minute silence. Once again, Professor Reverent had been called away on Auror business and Hermione had to marvel at how Professor Blake was handling the extra classes in-stride. It made her feel embarrassed for her own lack of composure while dealing with the aftermath of Ron's confession after the ball.

"I'm sorry sir. I know my attendance and behavior haven't exactly been exemplary as of late."

"Not to worry, my dear. I quite understand how it must feel to have an unbearable weight on your shoulders. We can only ask so much of ourselves can we not?"

She nodded, not sure what exactly he was referring to. "Professor Reverent has been gone a lot lately hasn't he?"

"The poor man," said Professor Blake kindly. "Another who tries to do more than he should have to. Trying to move in too many different directions only results in stretching ourselves so thin that we create holes through which the big, important things can slip through just as easily as the small. But none of us ever heed such advice. We have to discover it for ourselves, don't we? After all, how can we know our limits if we don't test them from time to time?"

"Um, yes sir," she said, unsure whether he was comparing her to Reverent or not, and whether she appreciated the comparison if he was.

"Professor Slughorn happened to mention that you've received a potential career opportunity. I daresay congratulations are in order," he brought up conversationally.

Honestly Hermione had completely forgotten about the Junior Director position. With Ron and the trials to occupy her thoughts, her future career prospects had been pushed to the back of her mind. "Yes, thank you."

"You don't sound overly pleased with the prospect."

"No I am. It's just…"

"My dear, if you permit me the liberty, I must say you remind me a great deal of myself at your age," Professor Blake told her as they made their way toward the Forbidden Forest. Now _that_ was a comparison that did please Hermione. "Both more concerned about what we deserve rather than what ought to be."

"How do you mean Professor?"

"May I be so bold as to suggest you feel Professor Slughorn is giving you a leg up at the Ministry? And that you don't like the idea of receiving preferential treatment?" Hermione only nodded, somehow unsurprised the man had read her so well; his blue eyes were as penetrating as Dumbledore's had ever been. "While that may be the case, you know better than anyone whether or not you're qualified for the position. But that really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Life is full of people in positions they don't deserve, and the Ministry is far from exempt from this; half its employees don't deserve the posts they have, and the other half waste time daydreaming about where they could be if they'd been given the same advantages. It's not wholly a bad thing; it's just the way of things.

"What does matter is not wasting opportunities because you feel you don't deserve them. If you can do some good in this position, then who's to say you don't deserve it? People spend their whole lives in that place without contributing anything of value, even if some of them have the best of intentions at heart. It's one of the reasons I never applied for a job there myself, if I'm being honest."

"So you're saying I should take the position, even if I don't like the reasons I've been offered it in the first place?" Hermione asked.

Professor Blake shook his head. "I'm saying you shouldn't let it be a factor in whether or not you take the job. If you're going to sit and waste the opportunity you've been offered, you may as well leave it to someone else. But I daresay now is the first real chance in a very long time for some good to be done in that place if one were truly motivated. I don't know the new Minister personally, but my impression is that he wants to change things, and he has the will to see those changes through. Sadly, it's a very rare combination to find in a single person. You know the man. Would you say my statement is accurate?"

"Yes, Kingsley's quite committed to justice. And he's worked under Fudge and Scrimgeour and I know he doesn't want to follow in their path."

"And what about you my dear? What about your commitment to justice?"

"I-I…"

"You've been missing lessons to attend the Malfoy trials, but I haven't read anything in the Prophet about you testifying for either side."

"No, I haven't. I-I've been going to support my friends and…"

"Which is all well and good. More than most would do I daresay. But I caution you my dear: more often than not we regret our decisions not to act more than we do our choices to try, even when we fail to succeed."

Hermione hadn't really thought that she was somehow failing by not speaking up. She hadn't considered that possibility, which was strange because she'd never failed to act in the past when presented with a choice, no matter how poor her options. _Except when it comes to Ron,_ she realized. She may have taken small stands since returning from Australia, but she hadn't truly committed herself to fighting to win back what she'd lost, what she'd given up. And she was reminded of Ginny's harsh words two weeks previous, accusing her of leaving Ron to fight for _them_ alone.

"I know it sometimes seems difficult to pick between a fork in the roads when neither one seems to be the right path to take. But the mistake most people make when offered a choice between taking either the right fork or the left, they forget that it was someone else who built those paths in the first place."

"Meaning what sir?"

He smiled. "Meaning, my dear, not all of us are content with being offered the same choices. After all, who is stopping you from ignoring both roads and forging your own path?"

They'd been walking for some time and Hermione had been so lost in the Transfiguration teacher's musings that she hadn't even noticed him leading her to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. But now in the shade of the tall trees, the brisk January air seemed even more chilling.

"May I see your wand a moment?" Professor Blake asked.

Hermione hesitated, the old mantra of 'constant vigilance' telling her relinquishing her wand to anyone except perhaps Ron or Harry could be the last mistake she ever made, but handed it over in the end. She trusted Professor Blake, even if she didn't always understand the things he tried to tell her.

"What is the core?" he asked her as he took it.

"Dragon heartstring," she said, watching his inspection. He turned it over in his hands, looking down its length and holding it to his ear. "Do you know much about wand lore?" she asked.

He smiled. "A bit, though I'm certainly no expert. I spent some time with the wandmaker Gregorovitch during my travels. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Elder Wand?"

Hermione tensed, suddenly regretting handing over her wand and wondering if Professor Blake would get suspicious if she demanded it back. "Yes, I-I've read about it, about the legends."

His eyes flicked from the wand to her face for a moment before returning to his examination. "Yes, well, Gregorovitch claimed to have once possessed the wand himself. He wouldn't tell me what happened to it, but he said he'd studied it closely for years while it was in his possession. He was quite convinced that its core was made from a thestral tail hair."

Almost as if he'd planned it, two of the very beasts he'd just named emerged from the shadows of the forest, stopping a few yards away from the witch and wizard. Of course Hermione'd seen the creatures for the first time when she'd arrived at Hogwarts at the beginning of the year, but her mind had been preoccupied—as it so often was now—with thoughts of Ron and his failure to show up at King's Cross, so this was her first chance to examine the beasts in all their dark and sinister beauty.

"Pity they're so misunderstood, isn't it?" said Professor Blake. "Between their connection to death and their actual appearance, they've been saddled with a rather unfair reputation. And if their connection to the Elder Wand is legitimate, I'm sure it would only be worse if it was known to the public. Wizards would go to even greater lengths to fear them, or else wipe them out in the hopes of stealing their magic."

Hermione listened to him speak as she approached the thestrals wondering if, perhaps, they were the same ones that had carried her and the others to the Ministry three years ago. At the time they'd just left them there, unconcerned by how they would make their way back home. Of course, she'd been unconscious thanks to Dolohov's curse, so her lack of concern for the creatures was somewhat excusable.

As she reached out to pat one of them on the head, Professor Blake called her back. "Vine wood, correct?"

"Sir?"

"Your wand," he said, walking over and handing it back to her. Hermione took it in relief, feeling silly for ever having worried.

"Oh, yes."

"Did you know it is said that vine wood wands choose witches and wizards who seek a greater purpose in life, who have a vision beyond the ordinary?"

"No I didn't. Is that true?'

"Well of course there are always exceptions. But in general, yes I believe my statement to be accurate."

Hermione thought a moment. She turned back to look again at the thestrals, but they had vanished, disappearing back into the shadows of the forest. "Those who have a vision beyond the ordinary…Sir, would those be the same people who think to find their own path than trying to choose between those offered to them?"

Professor Blake smiled at her. "Obviously, my dear, you can answer that question better than I. It is your wand, after all."

_29 January, 1999_

"We, the Wizengamot find Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy GUILTY."

The magically amplified words of Mr. Ogden echoed through the room. But while there was a flurry of camera flashes, there were no cheers of celebration. Everyone was obviously waiting to hear exactly what the punishment would be for the first family of the dark arts.

Mr. Ogden continued to speak. "Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy is hereby sentenced to one year without ownership of a wand or the permit to use magic—"

Immediately the courtroom erupted into cries of shock and surprise, but Mr. Ogden's words drowned them out as he continued.

"—The sentence for Mr. Draco Malfoy is four years without ownership of a wand or permit to use magic. The sentence for Mr. Lucius Malfoy is ten years without ownership of a wand or permit to use magic."

Hermione could feel both her friends' confusion as she sat between them and she wished the proceedings would finish soon so she could fill them in. It certainly was a familiar experience, being the only one of them unsurprised by a day's events, but she found she didn't enjoy the feeling as much as she had in the past.

"In order to ensure that the three of you comply with the terms of your sentence, the Trace will be placed upon all three of you, to remain in place for the duration of your lives. Also, this court has appointed Tiberius Greengrass of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to act in the Ministry's stead to ensure you are in total compliance of this court's rulings and remain law-abiding, contributing members of wizarding society." The gavel sounded and the press closed in on the Wizengamot as well as the Malfoys and Mr. Blishwick, demanding answers to a million different questions.

Deciding it was a good time to slip out unnoticed with everyone preoccupied, Hermione grabbed first Ron's and then Harry's arms and pulled them along behind her out of the courtroom, into the hall and through another door. And for the ninth time in as many days, Hermione found herself with Harry and Ron in the small waiting room.

"What was that about?" Ron asked Harry, who only shrugged, equally bewildered.

"It was me," Hermione said.

"What?" both boys exclaimed, looking at her, utterly shocked.

Her heart pounding in excitement, Hermione began to explain herself. "I just-after listening to everything you've been saying," she nodded at Ron, "and thinking about what you said," turning to Harry," about how an act of compassion now could change future generations, I had an idea. So before the closing statements yesterday I talked to Quinn—"

"Who?" Ron interjected.

Hermione bit her lip before speaking. "Robert Quinn. He's a Junior Seat on the Wizengamot and was Head Boy a few years ago at Hogwarts. I talked to him and he said he'd bring up my proposal with the rest of the members."

"He the pretty boy you danced with at the Ball?" Ron asked.

_Of course he'd choose to focus on that, _Hermione thought. "Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

"Right," said Ron through gritted teeth. "Right."

"So what was it? Your proposal?" Harry asked, trying to get the conversation back on point.

"Exactly what you saw. Instead of sending them to Azkaban for a while where they'd grow even more bitter and hateful, they get to keep their freedom without the chance of ever harming anyone ever again. And more, they'll have to live like Muggles, so maybe they'll finally learn to respect where Mudbloods come from. And if not, they'll be effectively cut off from their strongest supporters. After all, who do you think will be more willing to associate with them now: their old pureblood crowd, or people like us who know what life without a wand is like?"

Ron winced at the word 'Mudblood'. Harry just continued to look at her amazed. "That's-that's—" he said, fumbling

"Brilliant," Ron provided. Hermione turned to smile and thank him for the compliment, but while he'd sounded genuine, he didn't exactly look pleased. Harry on the other hand, was ecstatic, a mile-wide grin on his face.

"It is. You're amazing Hermione. Truly. I'd almost forgotten."

"Yes, well…" She tried not to sound too pleased. While she had done her best to live up to what Professor Blake had said about her wand for her own sake, she'd hoped that Ron would be happy with what she'd done, maybe even a bit proud of her for finding a third path, one that offered a balance of justice and redemption.

The truth was, her talk with Professor Blake, at least what she'd understood of it, had taught her one thing: the person she'd been since returning to Hogwarts, since leaving for Australia, was someone who didn't deserve Ron. And perhaps even more importantly, it was someone she didn't much like herself. And maybe, just maybe, if she found the person she wanted to be, she could find her way back to Ron in the process.

At least that was the idea: it may not have been up to her old standard, but it was better than anything she'd come up with in the recent past.

"Harry, I was wondering if I could have a moment with Ron."

"Uh, sure. I'll talk to you soon Hermione," said Harry, reading her tone and leaving the room, more than happy to excuse himself from whatever was about to happen.

"I told you already I don't—"

"I know," said Hermione, cutting off Ron's now-familiar protest. "You don't want to talk. And that's-that's fine. I just wanted to give you this." She pulled out a crumpled stack of parchment and held it out to Ron.

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing it like it was a snake that might bite him if he reached for it, and she forced herself not to roll his eyes at his absurd suspicion. They weren't anywhere close to being in a position to be acting like old-times.

"A letter," she explained. "It's a letter I wrote you in Australia."

"While you were with _him_?"

Hermione gulped. "Yes." Ron's eyes finally left the letter and moved to match her gaze. The effect sent disturbing, thrilling chills up and down her spine. It was always electrifying to be looked at—no, looked into—by Ron. She only wished her own eyes could see as deeply into Ron's soul in return. If they could, she might've seen what was worth fighting for much sooner.

"What's his name?" Ron said finally, pulling the letter from her fingers.

The question disturbed her, and finally voice wavered when she spoke. "It's in the letter, but I can tell you now if you want. Do you really want to know?"

"Since when has me not wanting to know something ever stopped you from telling me anyway?"

If she hadn't been looking right at him, she would've sworn Ron was wearing his lopsided grin. But his face was completely empty of expression, save his eyes which swam all the emotions the rest of him lacked—not a teaspoon's worth as she'd once accused him of but a sea's.

"Well back then I thought myself a lot cleverer than I really was," she admitted.

"And now?"

"Now…I'm starting to remember something someone told me a long time ago: that people aren't books, and sometimes what they mean can't be expressed just through words."

"So then why give me this?" Ron asked, holding up the letter.

"I-I'm not sure. I think just giving it to you is what mattered. You don't even have to read it. But I hope you do, Ron. Maybe after you do, you'll be ready to talk."

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><p><strong>AN:** The chapter's title comes from the song "Unfinished Sympathy" by Massive Attack off their album _Blue Lines_.

Okay, first I am no legal expert. Most of the jargon I used in this chapter came from _My Cousin Vinnie _which I just happened to watch (for the hundredth time) one night while working on this chapter, and Wikipedia. But since we're talking about the wizarding legal system, I'm just going to explain all my inaccuracies by saying they do this a bit differently. I hope people like the Malfoys' punishment.

I admit I still have trouble with JKR telling us they wormed their way out of going to Azkaban because it seems to really undervalue any changes and reforms the Ministry was supposed to undergo under Kingsley's stead, so this is my attempt at a compromise. Section 87, Article J is based on the Double Jeopardy Clause of the 5th Amendment of the US Constitution (though I've obviously expanded it here for my own purposes). I don't know if my readers are Draco-haters or Draco-sympathizes so tell me what you think in a review, whether you side more with Harry or Ron in this chapter as I really am curious.

I know people were probably expecting a lot more Ron/Hermione interaction, even discussion of Nathan and such. But these two had to deal with all kinds of things getting in between them over the years and now is no different. You have to wait a bit longer, but I promise it's coming.

Since I've been reading Athenais777's fic _Crossing Paths _(an absolutely delightful read that I recommend to everyone who isn't already reading it) while working on this story, I feel I'd be remiss in not saying it probably influenced this chapter as her fic deals heavily with the Malfoys. While I didn't intentionally take anything from her story (except my mention of Professor Charity Burbage, which I thankful she reminded me about), I wouldn't be surprised if I subconsciously lifted some of her ideas. If I have, I'll make sure all credit goes to her.

Finally, the Blishwicks are a pureblood family related to the Blacks, but not mentioned to be Death Eaters or connected to Voldemort in any way, which I thought made him a good choice to be the Malfoys' laywer. And the info about vine wood wands comes practically verbatim from Pottermore for those wondering if I just pulled that stuff out of my arse or not.


	19. CH18: Nowhere Near

**A/N: **Okay time to hand out the thanks: **Hilary, Sandrinha, avini, vlaovic, Missy, ObsessedRHShipper, RyanRow02, ravenclawgirl27, tabitoo, Weak4Weasley, joker, AddisonAddicted, milan4ever, placebo13, Amelie96, heronlove, Leviosa, DeLoreanDMC-12, gemsawesome, santess7, FightClub 18, Fred, Athenais777, Lolita, Zlatan25, Drobbles, Sarden, MsBinns, MaybeOnce, Grown Up Ron, BarbaraBriana, lingall, , antidote224, oscarpaz00, Mlgregg5,** and** newyearzgirl18.** Wow. You guys really are awesome.

All thanks is due to my beta **superfan24 **who had a LOT to correct with this chapter. And now, without further to-do…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18: Nowhere Near<strong>

_24 May, 1998_

"How's that?" Ron asked, holding out a piece of charred bread to Pig, who after trying to bite through it with his beak, gave a squeaking hoot and fluttered away.

_Great_, Ron moaned internally. _Trust me to find a way to screw up something as simple as toast._ He waved his wand and vanished the offending piece of food. _At least I've got that spell down_. Not that it was surprising that he could perform a Vanishing spell nonverbally. He'd certainly used it enough over the last week, clearing away all his disastrous attempts to fix something remotely edible.

"Maybe I should just give it up and help Percy with the wash instead."

"You worry too much, Ronald," said Fleur, consolingly, her voice startling him. He'd almost forgot she'd been helping him make breakfast, making sure there'd at least be _something _edible for the family. "When you relax you do fine. Like ze piez yesterday. Everyone loved zem, no?"

Surely Fleur didn't mean _his_ mince pies, the ones no-one had troubled themselves for a second helping. Still, he knew Fleur was only trying to encourage him. Besides, no matter how bad he was at cooking, he much preferred Fleur's company to Percy's. At least she didn't feel the need to correct every little mistake he made. And doing the wash was just a little too much like actually cleaning, and he had already gone back on his word to never clean anything again unless it was a matter of life or death—a promise he'd made himself after their summer spent at Grimmauld Place.

"Thanks," Ron told his sister-in-law.

"Please tell me we don't have to suffer your cooking again today. My stomach's still recovering from last night."

Ron turned around to see Ginny already wrinkling her nose in disgust, Harry lagging behind her. He'd practically taken to following Ginny around like a lost puppy lately. In the past it might've disgusted or amused Ron, but it was just so pathetic to watch that he didn't feel right about teasing his best mate for it.

"Don't give me that. I saw you slip yours beneath the table to give to Crookshanks," Ron said accusingly.

"Yeah, well, that just means I'm starving for having skipped supper and need some actual nourishment this morning. Besides, at least someone liked it," Ginny said, and Ron agreed dejectedly. Who would've guessed the person—or animal rather—that disliked him the most would be the only one who liked his cooking.

"You just need more praktize," said Fleur, patting his cheek softly. He shook his head as Fleur went to serve the eggs she'd made. She didn't affect him nearly as strongly as she used to, but having Fleur touch him still caused his mind to go fuzzy as he wondered if all of her skin was as soft and smooth as the palm of her hand…

He gave himself a small mental slap. It wasn't right to think about his brother's wife like that, even if he couldn't help it. And he felt guilty knowing what Hermione would think if she was here to see it.

"Yeah, how do you expect me to get better if I don't try?" Ron said, trying to distract himself from Hermione's absence.

"The thing is I don't. It might be a lost cause, your cooking," said Ginny sagely, digging in to her breakfast. "I mean Hagrid's been cooking for himself for years, but you don't see his rock cakes getting any better."

After breakfast, Harry, Ron and Ginny were headed out to the field with their broomsticks over their shoulders when Percy swooped down on them. "Where do you think you three are going?" he asked.

"Thought we'd go get some cooking lessons from Hagrid," Ron said sarcastically. "What's it look like?" he said, hefting his broom.

"Well it looks like you're going flying," said Percy.

"Knew there was a reason Mum always thought you were the genius in the family," Ron said briskly.

"But that can't be right," continued Percy.

"And why's that?" asked Ginny.

"Because Bill and I came to join you yesterday. But when we looked we couldn't find you anywhere."

The three of them exchanged a look, and Ron took it on himself to try and get out of this mess. "Wait a tick. _You _were going to go _flying_?" Ron said incredulously.

"What? I like flying," said Percy haughtily.

"No you don't," said Ginny. You've always refused to play since we were little."

"Yes I do," said Percy defensively. "I just usually think the time could be better served elsewhere. But as I was saying, you three were nowhere to be found and I demand to know where you were and what you were doing."

Ron and Ginny caught one-another's eyes and agreed to take the secret to the grave. This wasn't their mum; this was Percy, and they hadn't been afraid of Percy since they were five.

"We've been trying to fix up the joke shop," Harry confessed.

"Harry!" Ron and Ginny both said, turning to look at the traitor.

"What? I don't see why we aren't telling everyone."

The reason, Ron thought, he hadn't wanted to tell anyone was because he didn't know if the plan was going to work. And if it turned out to be a disaster, or just too hard, he didn't want everyone knowing he'd failed at something else.

_So much for that_, he thought bitterly.

"So, you've been cleaning up the shop?"

"No, we've not just been _cleaning_ it. We've been doing inventory, fixing stuff that's been broken and studying the recipe books and…and…" he tried thinking of what else they'd been doing but came up blank. Unfortunately there really wasn't anything else. They couldn't actually start restocking the shop with products until they had some gold to work with. Unfortunately, the only solution they'd been able to come up with was Harry dipping into his own bank account and Ron had steadfastly refused this offer, especially since he knew the shop wouldn't have been there in the first place if Harry hadn't given the twins his Triwizard winnings as a start-up loan. Ron had been prepared for a fight over his stance, but Ginny had come down on his side so the matter had been dropped.

"But why?" asked Percy.

"Because it was their dream and it shouldn't disappear just because Fred's not around anymore," Ron said, feeling his stomach turn when he mentioned Fred.

"Because one day George is gonna wake up and wish he hadn't given up on the shop, and by then it could be too late. So we're going to get it ready for him," Ginny chimed in.

"Okay," said Percy. "Does he know?"

"Who George?" Percy nodded. "No…not exactly," said Ron.

"Not yet," Ginny amended.

"Don't you think he should know. I mean he's the owner."

"We're not looking to run the place ourselves Perce," said Ginny. "We know it's his—"

"And Fred's," added Ron.

"—Right. And Fred's. D'you expect him to be upset with us for doing a little cleaning?"

"Fine then just…be careful," said Percy. "I know you're adults now, but you really should tell someone when you leave instead of just sneaking off. That's the mature thing to do."

Ron opened his mouth to retort that it wasn't like anyone cared or even noticed, but shut it when he realized Percy standing before them was proof that someone _did _care. His mum and George might be too preoccupied to notice, but Bill and Percy had, Fleur probably as well. And his dad might be too busy at the moment to have cottoned on yet, but he would definitely be interested in knowing what the three of them were up to.

"Sure Perce. We'll tell you where we're going from now on," Ron told his brother.

Satisfied, Percy marched back inside and the trio made their way past the Burrow's protective enchantments and Disapparated, Ron taking Ginny by Side-Along.

It was quite funny, he thought, how Ginny always asked him to take her instead of asking Harry, like she didn't like the idea of even touching her ex-boyfriend…or perhaps was afraid she'd like it too much.

Since Hermione had left, Ron and Ginny had spent a great deal of time together, just the two of them. All she ever wanted to do was play Quidditch. He'd leapt at every opportunity to join her at first, not even questioning why Harry hadn't been invited as well. Quidditch was something fun to take his mind off everything else, something _normal_. But very quickly the game had lost its appeal.

Since extracurricular had been banned last year at Hogwarts, it seemed like Ginny was trying to cram an entire year's worth of training into a few weeks' time, and she played more ferociously than anyone else he'd ever seen. Ron wasn't sure if his body or his ego had received more bruises after their last session, after which he'd laid up in bed all night moaning, his body in total agony.

Besides the physical abuse, Ron didn't really mind spending time with Ginny. He felt guilty for neglecting her over the years, treating her the same way the twins had treated him: like a nuisance instead of a sibling. Being on the Quidditch team together had helped restore some of the closeness they'd shared in their younger days, but Ron had still been too busy with Harry and Hermione most of the time to give his sister a second thought. Losing Fred had instilled a new sense of appreciation for his family. But as much as he appreciated the chance for both of them to make up for lost time now, he knew they were both using each other to avoid thinking about the ones they really wanted to be close to.

Of course, Ron couldn't do much about Hermione at the moment with her all the way in Australia, but Harry was right here and clearly wanted to be with her, if only Ginny would let him.

Inside the shop, they set to work. Ginny had it worst being underage and unable to use magic, so Ron usually let her work where and when she wanted and didn't dare order her around, afraid she'd quit at the drop of a hat if he tried pushing her around. But the same did not go for Harry, and Ron had to admit he took some pleasure in supervising The Chosen One. He'd spent years following Harry's lead in _everything_ and getting bossed around by his mum and brothers, and he found he didn't exactly hate being on the other side of the whip for once. He tried not to abuse his power too much, but every once in a while an opportunity arose that was too good to pass up.

Like today: he'd asked Harry to sort through their remaining supply of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. The twins imported the product in its raw, crystalline form which needed to be Transfigured into the fine powder they actually sold, and Ron decided Harry was just the wizard for the job.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was walking around with a swirling cloud of impenetrable black smoke billowing around him that refused to dissipate. This caused quite a problem because not only did it hide Harry from view, but it made it impossible for him to see where he was going. Finally, Ron had managed to gasp out between laughs that Harry should Apparate back to the Burrow to see if Bill or Percy could fix him up. And while he was there to see if he could get Fleur to fix up some sandwiches for lunch.

"You knew that would happen, didn't you?" asked Ginny after Harry left, stifling another fit of giggles.

"Who me? Of course not," Ron said, feigning innocence. Well he hadn't _known _for sure, but he had read in Fred & George's instructions a warning of the possibility if the spell caster wasn't completely focused on the transfiguration. And he might've forgotten to warn Harry on purpose, but it served him right for getting distracted.

_Was probably thinking about Ginny anyway_, thought Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the idea.

"You're terrible," she said, as they set to work once more.

"Terribly brilliant you mean," Ron said, feeling rather smug.

"Maybe for a boy."

"Think yourself smarter than me, do you?"

"Well, duh. But I was thinking of Hermione actually."

_Right. Hermione. Thanks for the reminder that she's not here Gin. Really needed that since it's been all of five minutes since I haven't thought about it. _"Well that goes without saying."

"She's only been gone ten days," Ginny said consolingly, realizing she'd put her foot in it.

"I know," he said, before going back to work. He felt Ginny's eyes on him, studying him. "What?" he asked after a few minutes, annoyed with her scrutiny.

"Nothing."

"Then stop staring."

"It's just…so pathetic!" she exclaimed.

"Excuse me?"

"Why didn't you just go with her if you're going to sulk the whole time she's gone?"

"I don't sulk," Ron said defensively. "I leave that to Harry."

"True, but you're almost as bad, worse in some ways, at least when it comes to Hermione."

"How is this sulking?" He really didn't understand what Ginny was getting at. Of course he missed Hermione, and sure he questioned whether letting her go to Australia alone had really been the right decision on an hourly basis. But he wasn't _sulking_, was he? No, he was keeping busy with the shop and Quidditch and cooking lessons, and de-gnoming the yard whenever he needed to vent his frustration. And he still had fun bickering with Ginny and ribbing on Percy and Harry. His brother was gone and his…Hermione was in another country. Did Ginny expect him to be happy about those things?

All in all, Ron thought he was handling the situation quite well.

"I don't know what it is," Ginny explained. "You just seem…less like yourself, diminished or something."

Ron laughed. "You're barking."

She smiled a little. "Maybe, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I know these sorts of things."

"And can I ask how you've come by such insights? Swiped Trelawney's crystal ball have you?"

"Ha ha," intoned Ginny. "Because I'm the same. I mean I think we all are, without Fred. But you and me, we don't have Harry or Hermione at the moment either. And that makes everything else harder."

"Well you know you could change that," said Ron, pointing out the obvious.

"You expect _me _to get Hermione back for you? Nuh uh, that's your mess. Besides, no-one knows where the hell she is, so how do you expect me to find her."

"Don't pretend you're thick Gin. It doesn't suit you and besides, that's my thing. You know I was talking about you and Harry."

"Right, _him_," Ginny said in a very small voice.

"Hey, you're the one who brought his name into it."

"I know I did!" Ginny snapped, before clapping her hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed at her outburst.

"S'okay. I just don't get it. I mean, I know you told me you're still mad about his leaving you last year and all, but he's back now. He had good reasons and he obviously wants to make it up to you…"

"I just don't want to make it too easy for him."

"That's dumb," Ron told her bluntly. "That's the reason I ended up in that whole mess with Lavender, y'know."

"I thought that was because Hermione snogged Krum."

"Watch it," he warned.

"Sorry. Still can't joke about that, huh?"

"Never," Ron said, practically growling.

"It's just…he's going to be an Auror now. This whole thing with Vol-Riddle wasn't the end, just the start. He's going to spend the rest of his life leaving the rest of us behind so he can go fight."

"So what? You deserve more than that?" Ron asked. To be honest, Ron half agreed with the suggestion.

"Sort of. Not really. It's more like I don't know if I can take knowing he's putting himself in danger all the time, not being able to do anything but wait at home, hoping he comes back in one piece. I'm not saying what he and you and Hermione did last year was easy, but you don't know what it was like being left behind, wondering how you three were making out every day, if you were in trouble or not, if you were even alive."

Actually, Ron had a good idea of what that felt like from his time spent at Shell Cottage after he'd walked out on Harry and Hermione. But, that only helped him understand Ginny's concerns. "You won't just be sitting around though."

"Won't I?"

Ron shook his head. "You didn't last year, did you? You ran the D.A. with Neville, you fought Snape and the Carrows all year. Hell, if you hadn't fought Bellatrix in the battle, Mum probably wouldn't have been able to take that bitch down in the end." Ginny smiled, but still looked unconvinced. "Look, I'm not saying it won't be hard, but what's the alternative? Asking him not to do it, to not join the Aurors?" Ginny shrugged. "Because he'd probably quit if you asked him to."

"I'd never," Ginny said.

"I know. I don't think it's any easier for him. You know the night I…left," Ron coughed. It was still hard to talk about that time, probably always would. "I accused Harry of not caring about you. It was one of the stupidest things I could've said to him. If Hermione hadn't cast a Shield Charm between us, Harry probably would've slugged me." Ron thought back to his talk with Harry the day of Fred's funeral, when Harry had asked how Ron knew he loved Hermione. He'd been thinking of Ginny when he asked that question, Ron was sure of it.

"Look, he cares about you. A _lot_. He might be trying to save the whole world by catching Death Eaters, but he really just wants to save you."

"But I don't need saving," Ginny whined, and Ron grinned; when it came down to it, she was still that spoiled little girl used to getting her way. And he loved her for it, even if he'd never tell her in words. It's part of what made her perfect for Harry.

"Doesn't matter. The prat would probably try and save Grawp from a bumblebee if we let him. You know I don't like to think of you and Harry like _that_, but you really should talk to him. I've got things here, why don't you go use the Floo upstairs and find out what's keeping him." He nodded, trying to convince her that he didn't mind.

"Thanks Ron. You should pretend to be an expert on feelings more often. I like you better like this than when you act brainless, and I'm sure Hermione likes it even more."

"Yeah well, I do try," he said with false modesty.

"Ginny stood from where she'd been cleaning a low shelf. But instead of heading up to Fred and George's old flat, she walked over to him. And before Ron knew it, she was doing something he couldn't remember her ever doing for him before; she was kissing him on the cheek. And before he'd fully processed what he'd done to deserve it, she was gone up the stairs and out of sight.

After coming out of his daze, he went back to studying the recipe book, trying to learn how the twins had managed to get the Disillusionment Charms on their Headless Hats to extend beyond the headgear itself. He'd yet to make any progress performing the spell on his Chudley Cannons hat when he heard the bell on the shop door sound.

"Back already?" he asked, surprised. Ginny had only been gone twenty minutes or so. "Not that I'm complaining, as long as you've brought sandwiches. I'm starving-oh." He cut off, seeing neither Harry nor Ginny when he looked away from the mirror he'd been using to check his spellwork, but Percy. "It's you."

"Pleasure to see you, too, Ronald."

"Coming to see if I've blown up George's shop? Because as you might not have noticed, it's still here."

"Not exactly. After you three left this morning I went and told Bill what you were doing."

Ron didn't really care that Bill knew he was trying to get the shop into working order, but he resented the fact that Percy had just gone and told him instead of waiting for Ron to bring it up himself. "Did you now? And I'm sure you had a reason for doing so?"

"Actually I did. I wanted to ask him if he could get you access to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' account at Gringotts."

Ron was flabbergasted. "What?"

"Well, from what you told me and from what I can see, you've done just about everything you can, without access to gold that is. I thought if you had the funds you could get started on resupplying and restocking. I mean you'll have to before it's ready for business. Bill said it should be no problem."

"I…don't know what to say." And he really didn't. Ron's feelings were mixed. On the one-hand, he'd wanted to do this himself without anyone's help. Bill and Percy were already much better at doing things around the Burrow, and were much more patient and understanding when sitting with their Mum.

But getting the shop up and running had been his idea, his plan. And he'd thought it was something he could do, his way to contribute since he was turning out to be such a miserable cook. Of course, it'd only taken him two trips to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to realize that trying to do everything himself was an impossible task. The state of the shop was so abysmal after a year of neglect that he hadn't known where to start. So he'd reluctantly roped Ginny and Harry into helping. Neither of them were busy with anything else, and Ron would hazard a guess that Harry was just as desperate to contribute as himself. Plus having them with him at the shop meant he could keep an eye on the two of them.

"Did you tell George?" Ron asked finally.

"I thought I'd let you decide when the time was appropriate."

"Oh, well thanks."

"Certainly."

They stood there looking at one another awkwardly. In the past Ron had hated Percy meddling in his business. But this wasn't meddling; this was helping. In one afternoon, he'd solved one of Ron's biggest problems without even being asked. Maybe he wasn't giving Percy as much credit as he deserved.

"Thanks Perce, really."

"Yes, well…" Percy trailed off, as unused to being thanked as Ron was with doing the thanking. "You've got some dirt on your nose, by the way. Right there."

The words, so familiar, so close to Hermione's, hit Ron like a sledgehammer, shattering their brotherly moment. Once again, he was reminded that Hermione was gone, that he couldn't just go back to the Burrow and see her like Ginny could with Harry.

He rubbed his nose, his fingers coming away with soot. "Darkness Power. Harry made a mess of himself earlier. I must've gotten a bit on me. Did someone get him sorted yet?"

"Fleur and I managed it, though it was a bit tricky. Hard to remove something so immaterial. Oh, I almost forgot," Percy said, rifling through his pockets and pulling out a letter. "This came over from the Ministry after you left.

Ron took it, wondering what Kingsley had to say to him now that he'd turned down the Auror post. But when he ripped open the envelope, he found a second one inside, addressed to him in Hermione's neat scrawl.

Feeling his pulse quicken, Ron tore it open and read it like a man dying of thirst having been handed a liter of water.

_Ron,_

_I found my parents and managed to undo the memory charm. But they've started a new life here and I'm not sure when they'll be ready to return to England, and I have so much left to explain to them. So I've decided to stay with them, at least until we figure a few things out. Give Harry and Ginny and the rest of your family my best. I'll talk to you soon._

_Love_

_Hermione_

"Everything alright?" Percy asked, seeing Ron's expression. Ron didn't answer, his lips drawn back in a grimace as his eyes went back to the letter and started reading it again.

_14 June, 1998_

It was official. Ron Weasley was going insane.

There was absolutely no other way to account for why he was walking through the fields surrounding the Burrow at 3:18 in the morning. Before coming outside, he'd been lying in bed for hours, staring at the pocket watch he'd received for his seventeenth birthday propped open on his bedside table, convinced that it was broken. After all there was no way time was actually moving _that _slowly

And the worst of it was it wasn't even the first time.

Ron had been having trouble sleeping for weeks, and no matter what he did, nothing seemed to make a difference. He'd been working his arse off, putting in nine or ten hours every day at the shop. Ginny had apparently taken his words to heart and she and Harry were finally back together, at least as far as Ron could tell. They hadn't said anything to him, but they both certainly acted like it, the way they were snogging each other every moment they thought they were alone.

They hardly even came to the shop to help anymore, not that Ron minded exactly. Actually he'd been the one to tell them off for carrying on when they were supposed to be working, sneaking off to the office or stock room. He'd made a fuss one afternoon when they'd been mixing love potions and he'd found them intimately arranged in the back. Of course, he supposed inhaling Amortentia fumes for several hours probably had a lot to do with the state of them: Harry's hair more disheveled than after a Quidditch match, Ginny's lips red and swollen, both their cheeks flushed and panting. When he'd put his foot down and told them to go home and not come back until they could act professional, he hadn't expected for them to take his words as a suggestion that they were relieved of their duties. But he supposed he'd take an afternoon of snogging over working on products for the joke shop as well if he still had the option.

Letting out a derisive snort, Ron Apparated to Diagon Alley. He knew he wasn't going to get anymore sleep tonight, so he might as well get some work done at the shop. Unfortunately as he unlocked the door and went inside to turn on the lights, he realized just how much he was beginning to hate the place. Honestly, he couldn't fathom what had made him think this had ever been a good idea.

After Bill gave him access to the shop's bank account, it'd only taken another week to finish cleaning and now that he actually had all the supplies and ingredients he needed, he'd started on stocking the shelves with finished goods for sale.

With the cleaning done, the work wasn't so bad. He actually found some of it quite interesting and had even started experimenting with a few ideas of his own. He probably wouldn't mind it at all if he just had someone to talk to while he worked instead of being stuck there all alone.

Last week, Ron had finally decided it was time to tell George what he'd been doing with his joke shop. Of course, the conversation hadn't exactly gone as he'd hoped. At first, George had acted like he hadn't even heard Ron when he told him, like he didn't even remember that he and Fred had ever opened the shop in the first place. Sensing that perhaps George felt a bit conflicted over going back to work without Fred, Ron had told him that Fred wouldn't have wanted George to mope about. He'd have wanted the shop to keep going, and he definitely would've wanted George to get on with his life.

Unfortunately, while this did get a reaction out of George, it wasn't the one Ron had hoped for. Instead of seeing Ron's attempt to help, George had tossed Ron out of his room and said he was cursing the door that would ban Ron from the room, and would make his dick fall off if he so much as tried to get back inside.

In hindsight, Ron could see why George had gotten upset. So maybe he should've used a bit more tact? Did that justify how extreme his response had been? After all, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was supposed to be George's dream, not Ron's. Yet he hadn't even bothered to ask once since then about the shop's progress.

Couldn't George be bothered to come keep him company while he worked, maybe try cracking a joke every now and then, leave the house for a good reason like helping his brother instead of just going to a pub to get pissed?

_It's not like I'm doing this for a laugh_, thought Ron, beginning to stock the shelves with Patented Daydream Charms. _Or for my health_, he thought as the levitation charm he'd been using on himself to reach the highest shelves wore off and sent him crashing to the floor, followed quickly by the box of Daydream Charms which landed on his head. Ron howled in pain, quite sure he'd have a nasty bump there come morning.

The rest of his family seemed just as distant as George for the most part. His dad was back at work, pulling double duty in both the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office and in helping Kingsley rebuild a staff at the Ministry committed to actually making things better. This meant that even after coming home at night, Mr. Weasley spent most of his time working, using what little free time he had to sleep or to sit with his wife. And Ron's Mum still had trouble getting out of bed most days. Occasionally she'd wander about and start to cook something or begin tidying up before wandering off again, leaving the rest for someone else to finish. The rest of them had picked up the effort in getting the chores done before she even got up around noon, which left her to just walk around aimlessly before settling down to cry over old family photo albums.

Bill of course was a big help, but both he and Fleur were working at Gringotts again and spent their free time with each other rather than Ron. This only left Percy. Kingsley had tried convincing Percy to come back to the Ministry, but Percy had declined, saying he was needed at home. And he was; practically every waking moment of Percy's day was spent working to keep the Burrow from falling into complete disarray. But as much as Ron appreciated what Percy was doing, they'd never been close, and a mumbled "thanks" was the most they usually managed as they passed one another after Ron got back from the shop.

As for Harry, well, he seemed perfectly content to do absolutely nothing most of the time. Lazy Harry was usually Ron's favorite Harry, but his behavior lately was on an entirely new level. Ron's definition of doing nothing included things like playing chess or exploding snap or eating. Or at least _talking _about something, preferable a subject that had more to do with Quidditch than feelings or Potions homework. But Harry, it seemed, truly took the term 'doing nothing' quite literally. He would just sit there, completely silent, barely moving. Ron knew Harry had earned a break after the past seven years, but this was bordering on ridiculous. The strange part was Harry didn't seem to be miserable or brooding; he was more like a chess player, silently considering his next move.

The only times he seemed like the old Harry were either when Ginny was around (and Ron had quickly learned he preferred to make himself scare during these times), or when he was studying for his upcoming Auror training. And unfortunately, trying to distract Harry from studying wasn't nearly as much fun as it was trying to distract Hermione.

_Hermione._

All of this would've been much more bearable if she were there with him. Hell, he probably wouldn't even notice everything else that was still in complete shite if she was still around. But of course she was still in Australia. Or at least he assumed that's where she was; he didn't actually know, considering he hadn't received any more post from her since that first letter had arrived three weeks ago. _Not that it said all that much_, he thought bitterly.

The blasted thing was so bloody short he'd managed to memorize it and recited it often in his head as he bloody worked. Since reading it, he'd come to recognize it as a major source of his frustrations and probably the cause for his blooming insomnia. He realized it was literally the shortest letter he'd ever received from Hermione in all their years as friends. There wasn't even a return address, so he'd been unable to write her back and ask her when she expected to come home.

At first the letter's brevity hadn't bothered him. He'd just assumed Hermione had been excited about finding her parents and was more concerned with 'figuring things out' as she'd put it. And he'd believed a second letter, or better yet Hermione herself would soon show up at the Burrow.

Every day he expected to see her back home. And every day he found himself more and more disappointed, spending hours at the shop convincing himself that she hadn't written because she was too busy helping them move back to England, that tomorrow would be the day she'd finally show up at his doorstep and tell him she'd just gotten back and rushed over to see him. And then she'd throw her arms around him and he'd kiss her like there was no tomorrow. _And maybe_, he thought wistfully, _we'd finish what we started the night before she left._

She'd already been gone a month, which was far longer than he'd ever anticipated her being gone. It was strange, being faced with the uncertain prospect of when he'd get to see Hermione again, get to hear her voice, get to feel her in his arms. Sure, they'd spent a lot of time third and sixth years not speaking to one another with no end in sight, but at least then he'd still been able to _see _her, convince himself that at least she was alright. Plus, he'd been comforted knowing he _could _say something, even if he'd been too stubborn at the time to give in to the desire. And there'd been those long summer holidays when she was with her parents and he was at the Burrow. But she'd always written to him then. Every week. No matter how dull her summers seemed to be, she'd always found plenty to write about, and he'd always enjoyed reading them.

The only comparison he had for what he was feeling now was last year when he'd…left.

For weeks, Ron had worried that he'd never see his best friends again, never get the chance to apologize, to try and make up for his colossal mistake. At the time, no one had any idea when or if the war would end, and there was always the very real possibility that they wouldn't all make it out alive. And of course, he'd been deeply afraid that even if they all survived and he saw her again, he might be forced to accept that he'd finally done something so unforgivable in abandoning her and Harry that Hermione would never want anything to do with him ever again.

It had been the worst time in his life, Ron had realized, worse even than when he'd had the bloody Horcrux hanging around his neck and none of them could stand the sight of each other. At least then they'd been _together_.

No, things weren't quite as bad as they'd been back then, but they were getting there. After all, back then he hadn't known that Hermione cared about him the same way he cared for her. He hadn't known what she tasted like, what sounds she made when he touched her. And at least back then he'd finally pulled out of that nightmare one night when he'd heard Hermione's voice come from the Deluminator inside his pocket—

"That's it!" Ron shouted to the empty shop, scaring a cage of pygmy puffs. _The Deluminator!_ Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? It had brought him right to her before when he'd had no idea where she was at the time. He bolted out of the shop, casting a spell to lock the door behind him and Apparating back home the moment the lock clicked.

He raced inside the house and up the stairs and was opening his door when he came to a stop, frowning with uncertainty. Maybe it wouldn't work. Maybe it had been a one-time thing. Or maybe it only worked when _he _was the one who left, and wouldn't do a thing now that it was Hermione who was gone. Or what if…

_No!_ Ron thought sternly, his resolve returning. From what little he understood of the Deluminator, he was sure it would work now. It just had to. He could 'maybe' and 'what if' himself to death, but there was only one way to find out for sure, and that was to try. He began rifling through the mess that was his room, not bothering to keep quiet for Harry's sake, who was still asleep when he came in. As he looked, he was grinning to himself, happier than he'd been in weeks.

It was funny, the contrast between his disaster of a room and the shop which was finally looking like a real business again, like night and day. But his room was _his _space, and he could do with it as he pleased. _And I just happen to like it messy_, he thought. _Though it does making finding a tiny sliver lighter quite a pain in the –_

"Ah ha!" he exclaimed, as he found the Deluminator stuck in the pocket of the pair of jeans he was holding, the same pair he'd been wearing the day of the last battle. He shook them until the Deluminator fell to the floor with a metallic clatter and then tossed them aside.

"Whass going on?" questioned Harry sleepily, having been woken by Ron's triumphant cry, but Ron ignored him as he picked up the small object. He was about to see Hermione, be with Hermione in just a few seconds. He held his breath as he clicked it and a small ball of light flew out and lit Ron's bedroom lamp.

_This isn't right_, Ron thought, frowning. This was what the Deluminator usually did when he clicked it. But when he'd used it to find Hermione and Harry, the blue ball of light that had appeared has just floated outside until it had flown into his chest, filling him with all the warmth of one of Hermione's embraces.

He clicked it again, extinguishing the lamp. This time, Ron closed his eyes and pictured Hermione's face, her perfect little nose with its faint smattering of freckles, her cheeks huffed in indignation, her eyes sparkling threateningly, her hair wild and unkempt and clicked it again. Though his eyes were still closed, he could see the room brighten through his eyelids and opened them to find the lamp had been relit.

"Uh Ron, mate, I don't wanna bother you, but what the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Nothing. Go back to bed Harry," Ron said with a frown, his eyes fixed on the Deluminator.

"Kinda hard with the lamp burning and all," said Harry, now sounding a bit frustrated having been assured there wasn't any danger.

"Right, sorry." Ron put out the lamp again, got up and left the room. He went back outside, wandering to the edge of the Burrow's ward. _Maybe the anti-Apparition spells are keeping it from working_, he thought. Somehow he got the impression this was wrong, but it was worth a shot. Once he was beyond the wards he clicked the Deluminator again. The blue light appeared, floating in front of him and Ron took a step forward and into it, touching his chest to the light. But nothing happened. His chest didn't absorb it like before, he didn't suddenly feel sure that if he Apparated, he'd find Hermione standing in front of him.

"Damn it. Why won't you work you stupid piece of shit?" Ron shouted at the Deluminator. "Okay, okay. Just calm down and think. What's different this time?"

_Well, for one, Hermione's a lot further away_, he admitted. Could distance have something to do with it? Was Australia just too far away, beyond the limits of the Deluminator's magic?

"Can't be that," Ron muttered to himself. He wasn't sure, but he'd gotten the impression that the Deluminator wouldn't care if he need to go five feet or five thousand miles. And it seemed to work like a Portkey, and those had no trouble whisking people to any corner of the world.

_What else? _he wondered. _Well last time I heard Hermione say my name_. _Maybe she has to call me first before I can go to her_. His frown deepened with that thought. If he wasn't there, how long would it be before Hermione had a reason to say his name? Unless her parents asked about him there would be no need.

_No, that can't be it either_, Ron thought. While it was true hearing Hermione's voice had spurred him to use the Deluminator on Christmas, he hadn't been able to find her or Harry on that hillside and had used it again the next day to arrive in the forest where he'd caught sight of first Snape's doe Patronus and then Harry himself. _She didn't say my name that time_.

So what else could it be? Ron supposed he could always go back to Hogwarts and ask Dumbledore's portrait, but somehow the idea didn't sit right with him. For one, he had no idea if anyone would even be at Hogwarts this time of year to let him in the Castle since it was the summer holidays. And for another, it just seemed silly to bother Dumbledore and disturb his…err, retirement simply because he, Ron, was anxious to see Hermione again. After all, she wasn't in any danger. If he'd had a better excuse he would've just gone to Kingsley himself and asked the Minister if he knew where Hermione was in the first place. No, there was no point in bothering such men just because he was feeling a bit lonely.

But maybe he didn't have to talk to Dumbledore again; the Headmaster had already explained once how the blasted Deluminator was supposed to work. If only he could remember the important stuff from that conversation…

What had Dumbledore said? That he'd built it after becoming Headmaster at Hogwarts. And something about the students. And it was somehow connected to his family, to his mother and sister.

"Their graves!" Ron exclaimed, remembering a bit more. "Something to do with what's written on their grave." Suddenly Ron recalled not being invited to visit Godric's Hollow with Harry and Hermione. If he'd gone with them, he could've visited the maker himself.

_Where your heart is, you'll find treasure? No, no. Where your treasure is…there your heart will also be? _He knew that wasn't quite right, but it felt close. His treasure…well of course Hermione was the thing, the person he treasured most, even more than Harry. And his heart was with her, at least figuratively speaking. It was in the literal sense that he was currently having troubles.

_But maybe that's it. Maybe I…maybe my heart…isn't…_

Was that the difference? Last time, getting back to her and Harry had been more important than anything. He'd wanted it more than he wanted anything, even more than his desire for Hermione to return his feelings. Was it not working now because he was choosing his family, choosing George, choosing the shop over her?

_No, of course not. _He might've stayed behind instead of going with her, but his feelings hadn't changed in the slightest. She hardly left his thoughts these days, especially since every time he walked in on Harry and Ginny in a compromising position, his one-track mind would substitute their faces with memories of him and Hermione, touching one-another, exploring one-another.

Loathe as he was to admit it, he'd had an ulterior motive for not wanting to go to Australia. He'd realized in those last few days before she left just how little time there was in a day. He'd known he could never give her the affection she deserved, the attention he wanted to give her, while trying to help George and the rest of his family. They'd barely spoken once he'd learned of George's nightly visits to Muggle pubs. Even if he understood George and the shop weren't going anywhere and would be waiting when he came back from Australia with her parents, he still would've been faced with the daunting prospect of balancing their fledgling relationship with his familial duties, forced to compromise on both fronts and probably failing to do right by anyone.

No, better to have sent her off alone for a short time now. That way, he could hopefully have most of the heavy lifting at the shop finished before she came back. She could reconnect with her parents like he knew she needed to and they could both be fully committed to each other and try and make a real go at being a couple.

After all, he couldn't accidentally fuck things up with Hermione while she was all the way around the world. About the only thing he could think of would be if he went and snogged another bird while she was gone.

_Fat chance of that happening, _he thought with a snort of amusement. _Like I could ever be that much of a git. _Still he knew Hermione had been disappointed he hadn't gone with her. And he certainly missed her. So what was one day, one little visit to Australia just to check in, to make sure she was alright? It couldn't hurt to be selfish just this once, could it?

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on Hermione again, to remember their last night together, to think of all those wonderful days when he'd had her the way he'd wanted to for so long.

But if that was the problem, he obviously couldn't fool the Deluminator and it continued to frustrate him until he wanted to scream. He wound his arm back and went to toss the useless thing away, but held on to it as he followed through. Maybe, just maybe he'd find a way to make it work again. After all, Hermione wasn't going anywhere, except maybe back home, back to him. With a dejected sigh, he slipped the silver object into his pocket and Disapparated. _Back to work_, he thought.

_26 June, 1998_

"Alright, well…thanks for coming in. I'll let you know." Ron said.

"Thanks," said Patrick, standing up to shake his hand. "Just want to say again it's a pleasure to just meet you Mr. Weasley. A real honor."

"Uh sure," said Ron, quite happy to see him go. As soon as Patrick left, he made his way back to the office and slumped down in a chair. He'd realized that getting the shop in working order again was one thing, but there was no way he was going to be able to actually _run _it by himself. And since it seemed like George wasn't likely to be joining him anytime soon, he'd been forced to put a HELP WANTED sign in the shop window and an advertisement in the Daily Prophet.

He'd already interviewed six applicants so far, and Patrick seemed to be the best of the lot. He had experience, sounded eager to work, had even been in Gryffindor at Hogwarts. The only downside to him was his obvious hero-worship. While Ron had been jealous at times of the attention Harry used to get from people like Colin Creevy, or had at least been amused by it, it had taken less than five minutes with Patrick for him to realize he didn't enjoy being gawked at or asked fifty million questions about his experience during the war. Nor did he like being called Mr. Weasley. It made him feel old and every time he heard the words come out of Patrick's mouth, Ron had looked around expecting to see his father in the room.

No longer in the mood to get any more work done today, Ron locked up the shop and Apparated home. He found Harry and Ginny training in the backyard but decided he preferred a short nap to getting his face pummeled with a Quaffle and waved off their shouted requests to join them.

He went up to his room and laid down to sleep until supper. He couldn't have had his eyes shut for more than ten minutes when he got the sense someone else was in the room. He sat up quickly, his hand diving beneath his pillow for his wand, ready for anything.

"It's me," said a very surprised Harry. "Nice reflexes though."

"Sorry mate. Bit on-edge. Long day."

"Interviews didn't go well I take it?"

Ron rubbed his tired eyes. "You have no idea. Merlin you should've see this one kid who applied for the job. I swear he made Goyle look like a candidate for Head Boy."

Harry laughed. "So you didn't find anybody?"

"One. Maybe. And I've got four more coming in tomorrow. Let's just hope their better than today's lot. Pretty sure this one girl was actually a troll in disguise."

Suddenly, Ron realized how strange it was for Harry to be here, talking to him. "Where's Ginny?" he asked.

"In the loo, getting cleaned up for supper. You're not helping cook again tonight are you?" Harry asked with obvious trepidation.

"Hey!" That quiche I made last night was good."

"That was supposed to be quiche?"

"Ha bloody ha. At least it was edible."

"Wasn't much fun when we all needed the toilet at the same time an hour later though."

"As much as I enjoy you having a laugh at my expense, is there a reason you're bothering me while I'm trying to sleep?"

"Have you heard from Hermione lately?"

Ron sighed. He should've known this was what Harry wanted to talk about. Of course he'd told him and Ginny about the letter the second they'd come back with lunch the afternoon it'd arrived. At the time, they'd both been as optimistic as him, believing Hermione would be back in a matter of days, a week tops, and they'd tried to help him remain positive. But as time passed without word, Ginny had stopped mentioning their missing friend, realizing it did nothing but upset him. Harry, however seemed not to have cottoned on that Hermione's continued absence was a sore subject with Ron, and he seemed to bring her up at least twice a week. It was about the only time he bothered speaking to Ron these days.

"Oh yeah. Didn't I mention it? I got a letter from her yesterday," Ron drawled sarcastically.

"No," said Harry, not amused.

"Must've slipped my mind," he said, laying back down, hoping Harry would take the hint and leave.

"Aren't you worried?"

"No. She was supposed to meet up with some Aurors the minute she arrived. She's totally safe. Not like Death Eaters have nothing better to do than follow her to Australia or anything. I mean they're a little busy trying to stay alive at the moment, I reckon," Ron said with more confidence than he actually felt.

"But she's been gone a while. I mean, much longer than I'd expected. Don't you think it's strange we've only had that one letter from her?" Harry continued, voicing almost the exact same worries that ran through Ron's head hourly.

"We're talking about _Hermione. _Does anyone know why she does any of the mental things she does, or know what she's thinking?"

"I thought you did," Harry said, sounding perturbed.

Ron opened one eye upon catching Harry's tone. "Something you'd like to say?"

"What if something's happened to her?" Harry asked, looking very serious.

"Nothing's happened. You saw the letter. That came right from the Ministry. They would know if there was something fishing about it."

"That was weeks ago. Something could've—"

"It's Hermione! She's saved our arses more times than I can count."

"So that's it then? You don't care?"

Ron restrained the urge to throttle Harry for questioning his concern for Hermione's well-being. "Of course I do. Look, what do you what from me? Should I take one of those Muggle aeroplants to Australia and mount a continent-wide search? We don't even know where she sent her parents to, or if they're even in the same place she found them. We'd have had an easier time finding the Horcruxes. At least then we had a couple leads to go on."

"We could ask Kingsley," said Harry, not giving up.

"And tell him what? That even though we have no reason to think so, we think she's in danger and need to find her? Go ahead and ask him."

"I just don't see why you _don't _want to ask him yourself."

Ron didn't know why, but he was getting quite angry with Harry's attempt to butt into his affairs. Hermione was _his _girl, _his _business. It was his job to make sure she was safe, just like it had always been. Harry was a great best mate, but he'd always had some trouble seeing past his own problems, leaving Ron and Hermione to fend for themselves more often than not when a Death Eater wasn't bearing down on them, wand drawn. In Ron's opinion, until he decided to ask for Harry's help, he should keep his mouth shut and go snog Ginny some more.

"Sorry I don't want to bother the _Minister of Magic _because Hermione's on holiday with her folks. She probably just needs some more time to patch things up with them than she planned. She did erase herself from their memories after all. But if you feel like you need to create some excuse so you can go _save _another person, then by all means don't let me stop you from your self-appointed duty as the Savior of the Universe."

He could hear Harry's knuckles pop as he clenched his fists, could practically feel the anger radiating off his best mate. "You know Ron, I'm starting to see why Hermione didn't take you with her."

"You know what Harry? Fuck off. Hope you enjoy dinner. Don't feel much like cooking for you lot tonight." And with that he cast _Muffliato_ on himself and rolled over to sleep, ignoring the growls in his stomach telling him he'd regret skipping a meal come morning.

_27 June 1998 _

By the time he'd gotten through his first Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes applicant the next day, Ron was regretting more than skipping supper. Actually food was the least of his concerns. He hadn't even eaten any of the kippers or sausages he'd help Fleur prepare for breakfast this morning; his argument with Harry seemed to have quelled his appetite for the time being.

It was the lack of sleep that was the real problem, at least that's what he kept telling himself. His short power nap had resulted in him being unable to get to sleep later that night, so he'd spent his time looking between the Deluminator which he continued to carry with him, useless as it had proven itself, and Harry, going back over their quarrel. He hated fighting with Harry. It was never fun like it could sometimes be with Hermione. Seeing Harry all bothered, eyes blazing, didn't quite have the same attraction as seeing Hermione in a complete state, her bosom heaving from exertion, her hair looking like she'd been good and shagged (by him of course, at least in his imagination).

Ron knew Harry was just worried about Hermione, that he wasn't really just interested in playing hero. But really, what did he want Ron to do? Even if Kingsley _could_ find Hermione, what would come of it? It would be days before they sorted things between them and the Australian Ministry to locate her, and even longer to arrange a Portkey or tickets to use the International Floo Network. He still held out hope that she'd be back by then.

And if she wasn't…well Ron didn't know what the point was in going to get her. She wasn't in danger. He was sure of that. Somehow he'd convinced himself that he'd feel it if Hermione's safety was threatened, like a sixth sense or something. So there had to be another reason for her prolonged absence. The question was what exactly was keeping her?

He hadn't really allowed himself to think of other possibilities besides her parents needing some time to come to terms with what Hermione had done to them and a bit longer to pick up the lives they'd started and move back to England. But somehow, after listening to Harry's arguments, that explanation didn't quite cover it.

If they had things they still needed to work through, why not do it here in England? After all, it didn't take a month to get ready to move. Her parents had been given less notice when she'd told him they needed to go into hiding last summer and they'd lived in their flat in London for decades. Surely whatever 'life' they had in Australia would be easier to pack up or leave behind. And it certainly didn't explain why she hadn't written, or why her first letter had been so short. And the lack of a return address left a niggling suspicion that she didn't _want_ Ron trying to get in touch with her.

Ron sighed. He really was just as bad as Harry, getting suspicious of things that didn't even exist, jumping at shadows. Only instead of seeing imaginary Death Eaters, he was letting his insecurities question his bond with Hermione.

He opened the door to the office and called in the next applicant. Sitting back down he looked over the application. Melanie Stuart. Nineteen years old. No experience. Not promising, but Ron reminded himself that he didn't have any experience either. And with the war going on, getting a job right out of Hogwarts probably hadn't been a priority. Ravenclaw. Well that was alright. Ron could definitely use a girl with a brain.

_Hmmm, I wonder if she knew Cho_, he pondered. They would've been in the same class after all, same dorm for seven years. He hoped they hadn't been friends. While the Ravenclaw Seeker's only offense to him personally was her Tornados fan-status, she'd not been a good first girlfriend for Harry, something he'd always hold against her, ridiculous as it was.

Melanie came in and Ron started asking the usual questions, talking to her about which subjects had been her strongest in school, why she was interested in the job. As she talked, he barely listened, his mind elsewhere. But he didn't fail to hear his own name. And not Mr. Weasley either. What was strange was that it seemed to be coming from his jeans rather than the girl in front of him.

"What…saying Ron….asked you…what you…I did"

Immediately he shot up, his hand pulling the Deluminator from his pocket. Melanie practically fell out of her chair in surprise, and asked him what was wrong, but Ron ignored her. He only had ears for the voice he'd just heard for the first time in forty-five days.

All of his worries and questions vanished. This wasn't like when he'd thought of the Deluminator as a way to find Hermione weeks before. This was it, what he'd been waiting for. He needed to go. Now.

He looked at Melanie. "Job's yours," he said. "Be back here Monday at nine sharp. Oh, and could you lock up on your way out?" And without another word, he clicked the Deluminator and watched the glowing ball of light that appeared float into his chest, felt himself being jerked away from the shop…

…and crash head-first into the tits of a rather plump woman preparing to tuck into her supper.

Ron jumped up completely disoriented while the woman shrieked and, catching sight of a sign, making a run to the loo and locking the door behind him.

"Okay, calm down," he told himself, his heart racing faster than when he, Harry, and Hermione had escaped from Gringotts by dragon. He hadn't really considered the possibility that there were other people around. And though he hadn't taken much time to examine his surroundings, he'd wager all his Chocolate Frog cards, they weren't wizards.

He stayed in there for half an hour, waiting until the Muggles forgot about the red-haired man that had suddenly appeared from thin air. And while there were several knocks on the door from customers, no-one seemed about to break the door down to get at him. Finally judging it was safe to do so, he unlocked the door and went in search of Hermione.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, his eyes found her immediately. Even if he couldn't see her face, he'd recognize those bushy curls anywhere. A grin so wide it would put even the twins to shame appeared on his face as he started toward her when he caught sight of her table companion. A male companion, one who most definitely was not Hermione's dad.

He ducked behind what turned out to be a fake decorative fern and watched them through the plastic leaves. From this position he didn't have a good look at Hermione, but the bloke she was with certainly seemed to be doing an awful lot of smiling. Too much for Ron's liking and he was about to walk over and wipe that shite-eating grin off his face when he was accosted by a server.

"Can I help you sir?"

"Um what?" Ron asked.

"Do you have a reservation or is your party already here?"

"I'm not here to eat," he said, waving her away and turning his focus back to Hermione's table.

"Then I'll have to ask you to leave."

He was about to tell her to sod off when Hermione's voice came into his head, cautioning him against making a scene. And then a plan started to form.

"Alright yeah, sure. Whatever."

"I'll show you the door," she said.

Once outside, Ron went around to the side of the building to wait. Hermione and her…'friend' would have to leave eventually. He could wait until they were finished to ask her why the hell she was out to dinner instead of at home fixing things with her parents, or better, writing a letter to him explaining why she wasn't back at the Burrow yet.

Unfortunately it hadn't occurred to him that it would be freezing in Australia even though it was summer back in England. He was only wearing jeans and a thin tee shirt, and was shivering uncontrollably when he finally spotted Hermione and the ponce leaving the restaurant. He followed behind them at a safe distance. Normally he would've expected Hermione to sense that someone was following her, but she was obviously too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice.

_Too wrapped up in having a good time with that grinning git you mean, _he thought bitterly. _Seriously, what the fuck is going on here?, _he wondered as he followed them on what had to be the longest walk ever, waiting impatiently for the sodding tosser and Hermione to part ways. Unfortunately they never did, as he walked her all the way to what Ron guessed had to be her parents' house.

_Why are they just standing around on the porch in the fucking cold?, _his mind screamed as he watched them, refusing to contemplate the obvious explanation. Unfortunately he got an answer he couldn't ignore a second later as he saw the bloke lean forward and plant his lips on Hermione's. Ron was too stunned to react, too stunned to even see how brief it was, how Hermione kept her eyes open the whole time, how she pulled away with a small frown on her face.

All he'd seen was Hermione kissing a bloke. A bloke that wasn't Ron Weasley.

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><p><strong>AN: **The chapter's title comes from the song "Nowhere Near" by Yo La Tengo off their album _Painful._

So yes, congratulations to everyone who figured out the Deluminator thing. Dunno how obvious it was or not, but I'm glad at least some of you figured it out.

Hopefully this chapter shows some more of Ron's faulty decisions as he's really not meant to be perfect; he hasn't quite figured out how to handle George yet, he's keeping the full details of why Hermione went alone a secret from Harry, and he has yet another ulterior motive for not going with her. Doesn't make him a bad guy or anything, just that he's doing his best to figure things out and is bound to make some mistakes along the way.


	20. CH19: I'll Be a Honey If You'll Be Sweet

**A/N: **I want to thank whichever one of my readers is **DownBillowing **on Checkmated for rec'ing my story over on the forums there. It really means a lot to me to see the love spread around the web.

And a big thanks to **superfan24 **for her work on this chapter as I was really unsure on how it turned out. Hopefully you guys end up liking it. Fair warning, it's the longest chapter yet. She also has a new fic out (which I beta'd), a Goyle-centric one-shot. Short and sweet and you guys should definitely check it out for something totally different from this fic. Or check out her R/Hr fics if you haven't already.

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><p><strong>Chapter 19: I'll Be a Honey If You'll Be Sweet<strong>

_12 February, 1999_

As a parliament of owls flew into the great hall at breakfast, Hermione looked up from her cereal with hopeful eyes, the same as she'd done every morning for the last two weeks. Each day she wrote a new letter to Ron. Most were relatively mundane: telling him of what she'd learned in classes the day before or what she'd caught two sixth year Hufflepuffs doing in the passage behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, letting him know how Ginny and Hagrid were doing. Others spoke of her feelings, telling him how much she missed him, how sorry she was, how she just wanted the chance to explain things to him face to face.

So far she hadn't received a response. She didn't know if Ron was reading them and simply refusing to respond or merely setting them on fire or tossing them in the rubbish bin the moment they arrived, but at least she knew he was getting them as Pig never brought anything back with him. As all the owls settled down in front of students or dropped their packages and letters into bowls of porridge or jars of marmalade, she realized today was once again not her day.

It was, however, Ginny's day as an unfamiliar owl dropped a lumpy looking package in front of her. After quickly examining the note tied to the package, the red-head's eyes widened and she stashed it below the table.

"Who is that from?" Dean asked. Ginny had informed her that Dean and Neville had gotten into it at the Ministry Ball and since then he and Luna were rarely seen together, though Ginny had yet to determine if this was by mutual agreement or if one of them was simply avoiding the other.

"Oh, just something from Harry," Ginny said indifferently.

"A Valentine's something?" Hermione asked, doing her best to smile and sound happy for her friend. Currently, she was just thankful Ginny didn't hate her. And just because Ron obviously wouldn't be sending her anything didn't mean she was going to act bitter toward everyone who did have someone special, least of all her friends.

"Don't you think if it was something for Valentine's Day, he'd send it to me _on _Valentine's Day? Besides, this is Harry we're talking about. I'm not expecting anything."

"So what is it?" asked Dean, curious now that the mystery package wasn't something girly or romantic.

"Just a cloak I left at home over the hols."

Something in Ginny's behavior didn't seem quite right to Hermione. "And it took him a month to send it to you?"

Ginny looked her hard in the eye for a split second before declaring airily, "Well like I said, it's Harry. I'm lucky he remembered at all."

Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to get Ginny to reveal whatever she was hiding so decided to drop the matter.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful with the exception that Professor Reverent had finally returned to Hogwarts after being away on Auror business for nearly three weeks straight. Of course this was not a pleasant surprise for Hermione, who groaned in anticipation of another wasted class, and contemplated whether she could get Professor Blake to give her private lessons instead.

As expected, the questions began flying the moment the bell signaled the start of class.

"Sir, where were you this time?"

"In Leicestershire mostly, though we started out in the forests of Derbyshire."

"What were you doing? I mean, if you can tell us that?"

"I don't see what harm it'd do. The Ministry uncovered a lead on the location of the Lestrange brothers, Rabastan and Rodolphus. I was made head of a team of Aurors sent to track them down and bring them in."

Several members of the class gasped. The Lestranges were among the most prominent and dangerous Death Eaters still at-large.

"And did you?" Hermione asked rudely, rolling her eyes.

"Not quite. We caught them holed up in a safe house and engaged them. We wounded Rodolphus but they managed to give us the slip. Still his injuries would've prevented them from Apparating to safety, so we tried to track them on-foot. But eventually the trail grew cold."

Hermione couldn't imagine why everyone was so impressed with this man. He might be a world-renowned duelist, but he'd failed to capture just two Death Eaters with an entire team of Aurors to assist him. Harry probably could've brought both the Lestranges down by himself, she thought.

"While disappointing, I don't consider the trip to be a total waste," continued Reverent, "as I finally had the chance to work with Auror Potter." And as the class the class resumed their questioning, Hermione could've sworn his eyes lingered on her for a moment, as if he'd been reading her thoughts and was daring her to say something.

By the end of the class, Hermione loathed Professor Reverent even more than before. Another class completely wasted, and even if he hadn't said anything of the sort, she was sure his comment about working with Harry was a jab at The Chosen One's abilities as an Auror. She made a mental note to get Harry's side of the story the first chance she got as well as to ask him his opinion on the celebrity duelist slash Auror slash Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

She'd planned on writing another letter to Ron after dinner, but she was in such a foul mood that she doubted she'd be able to summon up the cheerfulness or remorse such a letter required. She considered performing a Cheering Charm on herself, but the effects of that spell always seemed to linger longer than she liked. So she came up with a different plan to fix her mood.

"Come in." She opened the door she'd knocked on moments before. "Ah, my dear Miss Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" asked Professor Blake from behind his desk, arranged neatly with an assortment of strange objects one might've expected Professor Dumbledore to have owned.

"I'm not bothering you, am I?" she asked.

"Not at all, not at all. Come, come. Please, sit," he gestured toward the open seat. Hermione sat down, smoothing out her robes as she did so. "I don't believe I ever congratulated you on the success of the Malfoy trial."

"But I didn't do anything."

"I believe an acquaintance of mine, a Mr. Quinn, would say differently."

"You know Robert?" Hermione asked, only slightly surprised. She was beginning to learn Professor Blake's eyes saw as much as Dumbledore's had.

"Oh yes. A very talented young wizard and a promising young member of the Wizengamot, indeed. I was actually surprised myself to learn that the two of you were previously acquainted."

"Well we did attend school together for four years."

"And danced together at the Ball following your award ceremony I believe. I must say you two would make quite a pair."

"Oh no," Hermione hurried to clarify. "He's certainly nice, and I'm sure he'll be very successful in life, but…"

"Ah. Such is a pity then. I believe Mr. Quinn has a rather difficult time finding people he can genuinely relate to. Oh well. I'm sure it's for the best."

For some strange reason, she got the feeling that Professor Blake wasn't actually disappointed that she didn't fancy Quinn, though she didn't understand why. Did those eyes see that her heart was too busy pining over Ron Weasley to notice a man like Quinn? "So he told you about my suggestion about the Malfoy's sentence?"

"He did indeed. I must say I was quite pleased when he told me. A very wise decision you made, and I'm happy he managed to persuade the other members to see its merits. You've certainly done your wand proud Miss Granger."

"Thank you," she said, feeling quite flattered. Speaking with Professor Blake was always good for an ego boost, something she desperately needed these days with all the mistakes she'd made over the last year. However, she still wasn't sure exactly _how_ Quinn had managed to persuade the rest of the Wizengamot to accept her proposed punishment so easily. Of course, the ruling had been declared both wise and fair across wizarding Britain, so they had to be pleased with their choice. But in hindsight, things seemed to have come about rather easily. She rubbed her temple.

"Something troubling you my dear?"

"Oh, no just a headache. I've had it since Defense class earlier. Actually I've been getting them quite frequently all year."

"Most unfortunate, especially for someone like you. My condolences."

"Thank you," she said, not knowing what else to say. She was so used to listening to Professor Blake speak that she was unsettled by having come to him with nothing planned to say or ask him.

"Might I suggest that there is a correlation between your headache and the circumstances surrounding its appearance?"

"You mean Professor Reverent's class?"

"Actually, I mean Professor Reverent himself. I could be mistaken, but something tells me you don't see him in the same light as most of your fellow students. Though I suppose it could be mere coincidence that you get headaches in his presence. Just as I'm sure it's a coincidence your assignments score ten percent lower on average when he is your instructor than they do when I fill in for him during his absences."

Hermione felt embarrassed that he'd read her so easily, but Professor Blake was smiling. "It's quite alright. You're certainly under no obligation to like all of your Professors my dear."

"Sorry. I know, it's just…" she trailed off, but Professor Blake merely waited for her to continue. "There's something _off _about him. I know everyone else seems to respect him, and I'm sure Professor McGonagall wouldn't have hired him if she hadn't though him qualified, but, well, you know him best, sir."

"Is there a question somewhere in there?" he teased paternally.

"I suppose I want to know why he's so revered when his classes are so…lacking."

"Have you thought of asking Professor Reverent himself?"

"No, I wouldn't…I wouldn't want him to think I was questioning his expertise."

"Understandable, but surely you realize that if we do not question those whom we have our doubts about, then those in question might not be made to answer for them."

She couldn't argue with that. After all, it was Ginny's relentless questioning that had lead Hermione to finally take action with Ron, useless as it had been so far. Otherwise, who knows if she would hold herself accountable as the one who needed to make an effort?

"But since you've asked me, I believe I can answer in Professor Reverent's stead. I presume you know of his work as an Auror as well as his renowned dueling skills, so I won't waste time discussing such things. I will say that Charles is facing difficult choices in his near future, like most of us are, and is fearful of making the wrong choice, something I'm sure you understand."

"Such as?"

"Such as where his career lies. After Alastor Moody retired from the Auror Department, he was passed over several times for promotion to Senior Auror status. And while I can assure you he is not looking for glory, it is difficult not to have one's effort recognized time and again by those whom you are supposed to respect in return."

An image of Ron immediately flashed through her mind. With Harry beside him at all times, he'd spent years going unnoticed by nearly everyone, herself included at times. "But how can you be sure he doesn't want the glory? I mean, he _is_ a professional duelist."

"A retired professional duelist. After he returned to the castle he informed me that he no longer plans to duel competitively."

"Oh," she said, feeling a wee bit guilty for judging the man.

"Yes. Unfortunately his other decisions, I believe, will not be as easily made."

"So he's considering remaining here at Hogwarts at the end of the year instead of returning to the Auror Office full-time?"

"No, I believe he knows as well as you do that he's not _quite_ cut out for sharpening the minds of young witches and wizards. I'm sure your friend Harry can sympathize with his frustrations with fame overpowering his life."

"Yes, I'm sure he would. I'm sorry Professor, I really haven't meant to bore you with my complaints, especially since they seem to be unfounded."

"No bother at all. My door is always open to you my dear, and I hope you take advantage of it. Might I enquire as to whether you've come to a decision about the position in the Magical Creatures Department?"

"Yes actually," Hermione said excitedly. "I still need to speak with Professor Slughorn. I've just been busy with…other things." She blushed, embarrassed that the 'things' were a boy. But then again, Ron wasn't just any boy.

"Well I certainly hope you sort these _other things _out in due time. A missed opportunity is a terrible thing."

"I will. I mean I plan on speaking with him soon."

"Actually I was referring to the other concerns you've mentioned."

Hermione blushed. This was too much. Discussing her love life with Ginny was one thing, and with her mum quite another. But it was ludicrous to think she could talk to a seventy year-old wizard about teenage heartache. Still… "I'm not sure if it's as simple as you make it sound, sir."

"Nothing ever is. A word of advice: Great men—or in your case great women—tend to make great mistakes, simply by virtue of being themselves. If we asked him, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would agree with me."

Hermione thought on that. Dumbledore certainly had made mistakes, but even so, most of them turned out alright in the end, quite often for the better. She could only hope for the same in her case. "Have you ever made a great mistake Professor?" she asked, unable to quell her curiosity.

"Yes," he said simply. Hermione waited to see if he would elaborate, if he would tell her something to make herself feel better about how badly she'd bungled things with Ron. Finally, he sighed. "I let my daughter die."

Hermione sat in stunned silence. She'd certainly not been expecting that, and was left fumbling for words of consolation. Hermione wished she hadn't asked Professor Blake; while something gave her the impression that it had happened a long time ago, the old man probably still remembered it like it was yesterday. Thankfully Professor Blake spoke again.

"Perhaps that's enough reminiscing for tonight. I trust your head is feeling better?"

Hermione felt terrible for not managing some kindness toward this man who had helped her so much already. "Actually it's still there." In fact, now that he'd reminded her, her headache seemed to hurt worse than ever.

"Ah, well, nothing Madame Pomfry can't cure I'm sure. Or perhaps just a good night's rest is just the medicine you need."

_14 February, 1999_

Hermione woke up two days later to Ginny jumping on top of her while still in bed. "Come on, come on. I've been waiting for you to wake up for ages. I thought you were an early riser," said Ginny, shaking Hermione by the shoulders.

"I am, usually. What time is it?"

"Late. You've already missed breakfast. Why are you so tired?"

"Prefect rounds last night," Hermione said, happy to feel Ginny's weight move off her lungs. Last night she'd not only had to put up with Andrew Davies usual boorishness, but she'd also been forced to deal with a most troublesome little Gryffindor, by the name of Melissa Thompson. Somehow the second year had managed to not only cast a permanent sticking charm, but made it so that it affected Peeves the Poltergeist, trapping him inside a suit of armor where he'd been hiding in the hopes of surprising unwary students.

Of course, the moment he'd realized his armored hiding spot had become a prison, he'd started shrieking bloody murder, his wails echoing from the 2nd floor corridor all the way up to the fifth floor where she and Andrew had been patrolling. It had taken them a good ten minutes to settle Peeves down and another hour and a half to free him. Then, after finishing rounds, Hermione had headed back to Gryffindor Tower and pulled Melissa out of bed to reprimand her.

What she hadn't counted on was the little girl giving her more attitude than a Weasley twin, and in the end she'd been forced to march the girl to McGonagall's office where Melissa had made a great show of leaking crocodile tears, sobbing out that she hadn't meant anything by her practical joke. Hermione had stood dumbfounded while the Headmistress bought the story hook, line, and sinker, took a measly five points from Gryffindor, and sent her back to bed with a biscuit to boot.

Hermione had considered telling Professor McGonagall the truth, explain how Miss Thompson had shown an utter lack of respect for her position as Head Girl, but in the end bit her tongue; it just seemed a bit petty to tattle on an eleven-year-old.

"Little snot," said Ginny after Hermione had finished explaining things. "Forget her. Hurry up and get dressed."

"For what?"

"We're going to Hogsmeade," said Ginny happily.

"Ginny, there isn't a Hogsmeade visit for another month."

"Which is why Harry sent me his Invisibility Cloak."

"I knew it!" Hermione said excitedly. "I knew you were lying."

"Yeah, yeah you're a bloody genius. Congratulations. Best in the year and all that, blah, blah, blah," Ginny said, sounding bored. "Now will you please get ready?"

"But why are we sneaking out of the castle to go to Hogsmeade?"

"Do you really need a reason? Didn't you do stuff like this with Ron and Harry all the time?"

"Yes, well, we always had a reason." Ginny looked at her, eyebrow raised skeptically. "Okay, so _they _always had some dumb reason and _I_ went along to keep _them_ out of trouble."

"Well now you can come and try and keep _me_ out of trouble. So. Get. Up." Ginny said, pulling Hermione out of bed by the arms.

"What if I'm too busy? What've if I've left my homework late?"

"Hermione Granger, leave her homework 'till Sunday? It's like you think I don't know you at all. You're at least two weeks ahead in all your classes, right?"

Hermione ducked her head, hiding behind her mane of hair. "Three weeks, actually," she said embarrassedly.

"See? You have nothing better to do. Trust me when I say you need this."

Finally, Hermione relented and went off to the loo to shower. Actually, she was quite excited for the little adventure, and rather pleased that Ginny had invited her along. It did remind her of the old days, when Hogwarts had been more than just a school to her.

Twenty minutes later she walked down the staircase into the common room, casting a drying charm on her still-wet hair.

"Is that what you're wearing?" asked Ginny, commenting on Hermione's rather casual attire.

"Yes. We'll be under the cloak won't we? So what's it matter what I'm wearing?" she said this quietly so other students wouldn't overhear them. Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Wait. What are we doing?"

"Nothing, nothing," Ginny said, innocently. "Oh, fine. If you insist on wearing the most unflattering clothes imaginable, then what do I care? Come on," she said, taking Hermione's hand and leading her out the portrait hole.

"Are we taking one of the secret passages?" Hermione asked as she followed along behind Ginny.

"Nah. After last year Filch knows about all of the ones that aren't blocked off. We'll just go out the front door, say we're out for a stroll, throw the cloak on and head up the road to Hogsmeade. Security's so lax now, it's almost too simple to be any fun."

And indeed it was as simple as Ginny made it sound. The only complications were making sure they were back before the gates were locked for the night and dealing with the half-foot of snow on the ground, but Hermione was well practiced in wiping away the footprints they left in their wake as they moved invisibly up the road into Hogsmeade. As they passed one building after another, Hermione wondered what Ginny had in mind.

"Where are we going?" she whispered.

"Hog's Head," Ginny whispered back. "Thought we'd visit Aberforth."

Hermione didn't much fancy spending the afternoon in that manky pub or speaking with Aberforth, whom she thought to be a rather dour fellow, but this was Ginny's party after all. However, upon reaching the pub, they found a CLOSED sign hanging from the door. This didn't stop Ginny however, who marched right in, Hermione following close behind for fear of revealing her presence without the cloak.

Inside, Hermione was surprised to find not the dingy inn she remembered, but a clean and tidy pub with a single table for two decorated simply, yet elegantly, in Gryffindor scarlet. And seated there, laughing over pints of butterbeer and mead respectively, were none other than Harry Potter and Aberforth Dumbledore.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, beating Ginny out to embrace him first as he stood at the sound of the door shutting. As she'd still been invisible at the time, this had caught him quite unawares, knocking the wind out of him. "You knew he would be here?" she said, turning to Ginny as she pulled the cloak off of her.

"Well the whole thing was his idea," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Alright if I say hello to _my _boyfriend now?"

"Oh, of course," Hermione said, releasing Harry and letting the couple embrace while she said hello to Aberforth. "So you set this all up?" she asked Harry.

"Well, yeah," he said, shrugging modestly. "I mean it's our first Valentine's together—"

"Oh like I give a crap about that," said Ginny amusedly. "And don't think I know you just wanted to do this so you could erase that memory of when you took Cho out."

Harry grinned sheepishly, but Ginny didn't seem to mind as she kissed her boyfriend. Actually, Hermione felt quite proud that Harry had set up this date with Ginny, regardless of his motives. He'd certainly come a long way from his first kiss under the mistletoe back in fifth year.

"So, wait," she said confused. "If you knew you were meeting Harry, why did you bring me along?"

"Harry's rented out the place so no-one else will come around gawking at him while we eat, so we thought you could keep Aberforth company so he's not hovering around us the whole time," said Ginny.

Harry shook his head at Hermione's horrified expression. "She's kidding, Hermione."

"Then why—"

"Ron's here." Immediately Hermione whipped around, searching for him. "Not _here_," Harry explained. "I mean in Hogsmeade. He's getting Zonko's ready to reopen as a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes store."

Now Hermione understood why Ginny had commented on her unappealing attire, and fought the ridiculous urge to go back to the castle to change. "I suppose he doesn't know about this?" she asked inconspicuously.

"What? That you're going to surprise him, or that his sister and best friend are on a romantic date?" asked Ginny wryly.

"I just don't know if it's a good idea, to catch him unprepared. I mean, he hasn't answered any of the letters I've been writing him. For all I know he's just binning them the moment—"

"He hasn't," said Harry. "He's kept all of them."

Hermione looked at him, wondering how much he knew, if Ginny had told him what little she'd shared about her situation with Nathan, if Ron himself had told Harry. Either both Weasleys had kept their mouths shut or Harry was once again proving how understanding he could really be when he wasn't the wronged party.

"Has he read them?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. But he still has them."

Hermione frowned, feeling disconcerted. "Take the cloak," Ginny said, handing it to her. "Just remember to come back for me. We need to be back before dark. Good luck."

Hermione nodded, threw the cloak over herself and headed back into the snow toward Zonko's.

The windows of the building were still boarded up, but there were unmistakable signs that the place had received visitors recently. Deciding there wasn't any point in knocking she tried the door, finding it locked. After a wordless _Alohamora _she tried the knob again and entered. Immediately her ears captured the unmistakable sound of two people laughing. One was obviously Ron—she knew his laugh better than anyone's—and the other, while unfamiliar, definitely belonged to a woman. She followed the voices to a room in the back where she found them: Ron and Verity in the midst of a water fight as they threw soaking sponges at one-another, casting _Aguamenti _from across the room as they each took cover behind boxes. She had a strange flashback to Grimmauld place and an afternoon when she and Ron had engaged in a water fight much like this one, relieving their frustrations at being forced to clean the creepy pureblood manor all summer.

Her first impulse was to turn and leave. She was still invisible and their shouts and cries of laughter had masked the sound of her entrance. But she stood fast; she was done running away from Ron, from her mistakes, and if she could own up to them in a letter, surely she could do the same in-person.

Hermione took a deep breath and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, coughing to announce her presence. Unfortunately, this resulted in Ron blasting her with a jet of water from his wand, startled by the noise.

"Merlin's hairy bollocks!" Ron said, quickly realizing what he'd done. "What are you doing here?" he asked, standing up and walking over to inspect her now-dripping form.

_Nice to see you too, _Hermione thought wryly as she removed her regular cloak as well. "Sorry, Ginny mentioned you were here and I wanted see how things were progressing." _And I didn't know you wouldn't be alone._

"Right, sorry about that," he said, guiltily, his ears turning pink. "We got any clean towels, Verity?" he asked before turning back to Hermione, though averting his eyes to look at the floor. "You, uh, might want to dry off or something."

Hermione then realized that the white cardigan and pale blue top she was wearing were completely soaked and clinging to her form rather tightly. "Right, I'll just…" and rather than wait for a towel, she cast another Drying Charm, hoping when she turned around her top wouldn't be quite as transparent.

Finally she turned around and Verity handed her a towel rather unnecessarily. "Hi, don't think we've every really been introduced. I'm—"

"Verity, yes," Hermione said, considering _not _offering to shake the witch's hand before her manners won out. "And I'm—"

"Hermione Granger, I know," said Verity sweetly. _A little too sweetly_, Hermione thought. "Do I get a prize for finally meeting all three members of the trio?" she joked looking back at Ron.

"We're not something for you to collect," Ron teased back. "We're not chocolate frog cards or anything."

"Not yet," said Verity. "But I wouldn't be surprised if…ah yes," she said, closing her eyes and touching her forehead, "I can see it in your future. Children everywhere, moaning when they open their chocolate frogs and find they've gotten another Ron Weasley instead of Harry Potter."

Ron laughed, but Hermione noticed it didn't have his usual deep ring, almost like it was a bit put-on. She guessed that if indeed someday their pictures made into onto chocolate frog cards, Ron would be disappointed if Harry's card _did _turn out more popular than his own. She wondered if Verity even knew things like that bothered him. "So, what were you two working on?" Hermione asked, awkwardly attempting to change the subject.

Ron snorted. "Sorry Hermione, it's all top-secret. You understand," said Verity giving her a friendly wink. Hermione felt herself bristling at the presumption of this girl to act like they were old friends instead of having just met, especially since Hermione had just caught her alone with her man.

_But he's not yours, remember, _the voice inside her head reminded her. _Besides, they weren't doing anything wrong. _

"So where is Ginny?" Ron asked, looking around as if he merely hadn't spotted her yet. "Didn't she come with you?"

"She was supposed to be meeting Harry."

"That's why you've got the cloak," Ron said, understanding.

"Isn't that romantic? Sending his girlfriend an invisibility cloak so she can sneak out of school to meet him? God, if only all us girls were so lucky, eh Hermione?" Verity joked.

"Yeah, real romantic," scoffed Ron. "Couldn't even be bothered to sneak in to see her. Instead he makes her do all the work _and _ruins the surprise."

"It's still romantic," Hermione insisted. "Harry rented out the Hog's Head so they could have the place to themselves."

"Yeah Ron," said Verity, "just because you don't have a romantic bone in your body and had nothing better to do than to spend Valentine's Day with me, doesn't mean you have to ruin the day for everyone else."

"You realize you've just insulted yourself, right? I mean I'm not exactly here _alone_, am I?"

Suddenly it struck Hermione just how peculiar it was that Ron was here. With Verity. On Valentine's Day. It hadn't seemed odd that Ron would be working on the shop today, holiday or not. She certainly hadn't had any plans. But surely Verity could be off doing something more exciting than working. She certainly was attractive enough, and would've had no trouble finding a date.

_Didn't look like they were slaving away miserably when I walked in though_, Hermione thought. _Wait! Is this a date? Did I just interrupt Ron on a date with another girl? _The idea was absurd, ridiculous even, and yet, she had to admit, very, very possible. She noticed that Ron and Verity had continued to chat as if she wasn't even in the room and quickly interjected.

"Right, well I obviously didn't want to ruin Harry and Ginny's good time so I came here," she said finally.

"So you could interrupt ours?" asked Ron, letting his irritation seep into his voice.

_Is that what he think of me? That I'm a burden? An irritant, ruining his time with Verity? _"No, I didn't mean to…I just thought…" Hermione tried composing herself. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'll just leave you two—"

"Why don't you two get us something to eat?" interrupted Verity, trying to break the obvious tension. "We've been working like house elves here." While she laughed at her own joke, Hermione had to hold back from informing Verity that she had absolutely no idea what it meant to work like a house elf, that house elves never got breaks to goof off and have water fights, that they didn't even get to have wands. But she noticed while Ron had smiled at Verity's quip, he wasn't laughing either and she bit her tongue.

"…and I'm starved. Could probably use some caffeine too. Up for a coffee, Ron?"

"Ron hates coffee," Hermione started in without thinking.

"I don't hate it," Ron countered.

Hermione looked at him confused. "Yes you do. Remember when—" she broke off. She'd been about to say 'Remember when you stayed at my house and my dad made coffee and you spit it back out the moment you tried it, but for some reason, it seemed indecent to inform a practical stranger like Verity that she and Ron had slept under the same roof, even though it was common knowledge they'd lived together for months in that tent alongside Harry. "When we stopped in that café after Bill's wedding?"

Ron made a face, remembering.

Verity smiled. "Awe, is little Ronnie too ickle to appreciate a grown-up drink like coffee?" she teased, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

Ron batted her hand away. "You know, that works better when the bloke you're teasing isn't almost a foot taller than you."

"It's okay," she said, ignoring him. "You don't have to drink the icky coffee. I'm sure Hermione will get you a nice hot chocolate. You like chocolate, don't you little Ronnie?"

Were they flirting? Right in front of her? Hermione looked to Ron, who seemed to just remember she was present as well. Though he was obviously reluctant to go anywhere with her—_or is he just reluctant to leave Verity, _she wondered—the promise of chocolate was too enticing and he relented.

"Come on," he said, heading toward the door.

"Don't forget to pay Ron," Verity called. "Remember, it's Valentine 's Day. The least you could do is act like a gentleman and treat a girl."

As they made their way out into the street Hermione heard Ron mumble something about 'cheeky witch,' and 'just wants a free lunch.'

For her part, Hermione felt thoroughly confused. Why had Verity practically shoved her and Ron out of the shop and on…well not a _date _obviously, but Verity certainly didn't seem to have any qualms about Ron being alone with her. _Is it because she doesn't see me as a threat? _Hermione wondered. _Or were they really just working, and I just happened in on them while they were goofing off?_

"She didn't mean it," Ron said. When she looked at him in confusion, he explained. "Verity, that bit about house elves. Y'know how most wizards are: don't think about crusades and rights for 'lesser creatures' and all that.

"I know," Hermione said, pleased that Ron had felt the need to explain, choosing to believe it was for her sake and not Verity's.

"You just looked like you wanted to bite her head off for a minute."

She _had_ wanted to, but her reasoning had little to do with house elves and more to do with big ginger idiots. "Well I didn't, did I?" They walked along in silence after that until they found themselves standing outside Madam Puddifoot's.

"It's packed," Ron said unnecessarily.

"Well it _is_ Valentine's Day," Hermione said patiently.

"So, what now? Three Broomsticks?"

"I'm sure that'll be just as bad." She thought a moment. "We could always go to the Hog's Head," she suggested, suddenly wanting the familiar comfort of her friends' presence now that she was finally alone with Ron.

"And have to suffer through Harry and my sister making goo goo eyes at each other?" Ron said in disgust. "No thanks. 'Sides, would you really want to eat something Aberforth cooked in that place?"

"Ginny and Neville and everyone else did last year, remember?"

"You really want to go there or something?" Ron demanded, sounding a bit snippy, and Hermione regretted questioning him.

"No, this is fine," she said hurriedly. "We can just put an order in and wait, so long as you're not in a hurry to get back. You're not, are you?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

Ron shook his head. "Yeah we can go look in Honeydukes or something while we wait. You probably shouldn't stand out here with your hair still wet. You'll catch your death."

Hermione smiled at Ron's concern as they got in the back of the queue. She took a breath. _No time like the present_, she thought. "So, how've you been?" she asked.

"Perfect," Ron said. She waited until it was apparent he wasn't going to ask how she was doing.

"Well that's good. How's the shop coming?"

"Fine."

Hermione refused to give up. "Well it looked really good. When do you think you'll be ready to open?"

Ron shot her a look that seemed to say 'I know what you're doing,' but surprisingly his answer was more than a single word this time. "Not sure. Hoped to have it ready by the Hogsmeade visit next month, but we're a bit behind schedule since I took all that time off during the trial. It's why we're working today," he explained. "Me and Verity."

She wondered if that really was the reason, but gave him a small smile. "I'm sure you'll be able to manage it even with the lost time," she said confidently.

Ron shut his eyes as the queue moved a bit. "Please don't do this."

"Do what?"

"You know what."

_Fine,_ she thought. _No sense in beating around the bush then, is there? _"Have you been getting my letters?" she asked.

"Yes."

_Back to one-word responses I see_. "Well good. I was wondering since you haven't written back."

"Not much fun is it? Waiting for weeks on end without a response?" Ron said a bit nastily, making Hermione cringed. So this was payback for her prolonged silence in Australia, she realized. "I haven't read them," Ron finally answered without looking at her.

Her heart sank, but she pressed on. "That's-that's fine. It's probably better if I explain in-person anyway."

"I'd rather you not."

"But—"

"Look, what's the point of us having it out, huh? We both know what happened."

"But you don't, you _can't_! Whatever you _think_ you know is not the whole story!"

"Keep it down, will you?" Ron asked calmly. She suddenly remembered they were surrounded by other people, by other couples no-less, out for a romantic afternoon. Not that she really cared about what any of them thought or if she ruined their day with a bit of shouting. What mattered was Ron, who, other than his shortness, didn't seem the least bit disturbed.

Hermione realized a part of her wanted Ron to be upset, wanted him to yell at her, partially because she knew she deserved it, but mostly because it would prove that he still cared. If he could be angry with her, then maybe, just maybe, he could forgive her.

"Ron, please. Can't we just go somewhere and talk?" she pleaded.

"I just-I don't have time for this today. Let's just get some food and go back to the shop. I have work to do."

"Work! Since when are you eager to get back to _work_?"

He looked at her, hard, and Hermione felt herself wilt under his gaze. "Since you decided to get off with random Australians."

Hermione felt as thought she'd been slapped, not because Ron's words had been said with contempt or hurt or anger, but because he'd said them as if he'd been merely commenting on the weather. He was just stating a fact, like saying her hair was bushy. It was something she couldn't deny.

She blinked back tears. "If you-if this was how you felt, if you knew all this time…why lead me on? Why make me believe you still cared?"

Ron's face darkened. He looked away from her and stepped up to the counter to finally order. As soon as he finished, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the queue, then the tea shop, and into a snowy alleyway before turning her to face him. "Don't _you_ talk to _me_ about leading someone on! Don't you _dare_ talk to me about caring; like you even cared about me when you were gone." She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that of course she cared, that despite everything she'd done she still cared for him, still loved him, explain that she was here, now, to try and find a way to make it up to him, but he cut her off. "Never mind. I don't want to hear it."

Hermione wanted to tell him okay, say that they didn't need to talk, that they could put it off. But what possible good could come of that? It wasn't what she wanted, and she really didn't think Ron was enjoying pretending like nothing was bothering him when it clearly was.

She yanked her arm out of his grasp, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Now you listen, Ronald Weasley. You say you don't want to talk about it, well too bad. I have some things to say to you and you're _going_ to listen. I tried being patient, I tried writing you, but if you're not going to read them, then…then…" she pulled out her wand and pointed it at him. "Then we're going to have it out right now, even if it means I have to hit you with a Full Body-Bind Curse so you can't run away." Ron stared at her a moment, mouth agape before suddenly bursting out laughing. Hermione huffed, trying to hold her menacing gaze. "I'm serious," she said, stamping her foot, unintentionally making her even more comical. "Ron!"

"I know," Ron gasped between laughs. "That's…why…laughing…" Eventually he calmed down. "Sorry," Ron said, still clutching his sides, but trying to sound serious. "Let's talk. At least we can get out of this cold. My ears are about to fall off and your nose is as red as my hair."

"We could go to the Shrieking Shack," Hermione said, suggesting the first place that popped in her head.

"You're joking, right? That mental place?"

She huffed. "It's not _actually_ haunted. We know it's not. Remember third year?"

"I wasn't thinking about that," said Ron, sounding far off. "I was thinking about Snape. You know, how he," he gulped, "died."

That shut Hermione up. In fact they didn't say anything as they made their way to the edge of the village. As they walked, Hermione noticed that every time she inched closer to Ron, his next step pulled him further away. She didn't know if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just instinctive, but eventually they had slowly inched their way to the edge of the road and Hermione started feeling ridiculous and gave up the attempt.

When they reached the shack, Hermione used her wand to unlock the door. Inside, Hermione conjured one of her blue bell flames, and then cast _Engorgio _on it to create a small bonfire while Ron pulled up some old crates for seats. She'd hoped Ron would choose to sit close to her, but he situated himself on the complete opposite side of the fire.

Silence stretched on. "Well?" Ron said finally.

"What?" Hermione asked.

He rolled his eyes. "You're the one who wanted to do this, not me. So why don't you have at it so we can go back and get our food."

He was right. It was on her to do the talking. She'd been the one who suggested doing this and she was the one who owed him an explanation for Australia. Hermione took a deep breath to prepare herself. "I'm sorry," she said, wanting to get that out before anything else. "I…" Her throat locked up. She knew those two words didn't come close to covering all she had to say to him, were the _least_ of what she owed him, but she couldn't get any further than that.

"Oh is that it?" Ron asked, beginning to rise. "Well if you're finished—"

"Ron!" Hermione croaked, desperate to keep him there. "_Please_. This is…hard. I have so much…and I don't even…maybe if you told me…"

"You want me to talk?" Ron looked doubtful.

She nodded. "Maybe if you told me what you already know…"

"Well then fine, I'll talk," Ron said angrily, standing up out of his seat. "I waited _weeks_ to hear from you while you were gone without a scrap of news, let alone any way to try and contact you since you made sure not to leave your address. You had me worried sick! You know that? I thought I'd done something wrong, fucked things up without realizing it. I was practically going spare, Harry too. Did you know he was so worried he wanted to get Kingsley to send a team of Aurors to make sure nothing had happened to you? But you obviously didn't think about us."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell Ron that of course she'd thought about them, practically every moment. But Ron cut her off before she got any words out. "So I went after you. And I found you, on some date with _him_, some random bloke you couldn't have known more than a few weeks."

Hermione gasped. "You-you came to Australia?"

"Of course!" Hermione flinched. She'd guess that's what had happened. How else would he have known about Nathan? But it was another thing to have him confirm it out loud, especially after hearing how he'd been so worried for her.

"So you saw me…with Nathan?" she asked, afraid of the answer she already knew.

"That's the arse's name?" She nodded. "Then yeah, I saw you with _Nathan_." Ron practically spat out the last word with the same derision he usually reserved for Malfoy.

"Why didn't you just ask me about him? Why did you leave without talking to me?"

"What for? The way you were _snogging _made things pretty clear." Hermione cringed again. So he'd actually seen them together.

"How did you find me?" Hermione asked, now stalling for time though she knew she couldn't keep asking him questions forever.

"Deluminator," Ron explained dejectedly. "Same as last time. I heard your voice and it took me right to you."

"If you knew then why…why did you act like…why did you let me think that you still—"

"Don't," Ron said sternly. "Don't act like _I_ was the one leading _you_ on. For all I know, you've been seeing him all this time."

"I haven't! I ended things with him _months _ago, before you and Harry even came to get me."

"And I'm supposed to believe that? I'm just supposed to take your word for it? How can I even trust anything you tell me now?"

She had no response to that one. "Ron," she said softly, "what I had-what you think I had with Nathan-it was nothing." Ron scoffed. "It's true. The night you saw us was the only real date we ever had. Mostly we were just…friends," she finished lamely.

It was R!on's turn to remain silent. Hermione watched him, could see the internal struggle on whether or not to believe her written across his face. It was then she realized they might still have a chance.

"I can prove it to you. If you found me with the Deluminator, then you know I said your name that night." Ron's ears perked up and he looked at her, with something akin to hope in his eyes. "I might've been on a date with Nathan, but I spent almost the entire night talking about you, explaining to him how important you were to me, how much I missed you."

For a moment, she thought she'd actually gotten through to him. But then his countenance darkened again. "Which is why you ended up snogging him later on."

Her heart sank again. Of course, she knew things wouldn't be that easy, not when there was still so much he didn't know. "What-what happened after you…saw us?"

"I came home," he stated with a familiar shrug of indifference. I came home and buried myself in the shop to try and forget the fact that the girl I lo-tat you were with someone else, wanted someone else." He snorted. "Fat log of good it did me."

Listening to him Hermione could actually picture Ron walking around like a zombie after coming back to England, could actually feel the pain he must've experienced at her perceived rejection.

"But…after I came back you…I mean I know things weren't great between us but I thought…it seemed like you still wanted…"

"Yeah well I'm an idiot aren't I?" Ron laughed derisively. "I guess I was hoping you'd tell me, that you'd explain what I'd seen was a mistake or something. I kept telling myself if you still had…if you still _felt_…" he broke off as his voice cracked with emotion. He sat back down and ruffled his hair. "I just thought you'd explain."

"I wanted to!" Hermione said, practically shouting at him to believe her. "I tried, so many times but—"

"But what? You had plenty of chances. That day we went to lunch I kept waiting for you to bring it up. I even asked you if you'd made any friends while you were gone. And you lied to me, right to my face. You told me you'd been too busy reconnecting with your _parents_! I should've known right then you weren't going to say anything. I should've just given up but," he shrugged again. "I've always been a glutton for punishment."

"Ron, Nathan was _nothing_! He meant nothing to me."

Ron fumed. "Well that make me feel _loads _better, knowing you threw everything we had away for _nothing_!"

"I didn't know there was anything left to throw away!" Hermione cried. "When you didn't come with me like you'd promised—"

"So it's my fault then?"

"NO! Well, yes. I mean at the time it felt ike—"

"What!" Ron accused. "It gave you the right to take up with first bloke to catch your fancy just because we were in different countries or something?"

"God no. Of course not. You can't imagine how much I regret it, how stupid the whole thing was. But you have to understand; I thought you didn't want me…didn't want us."

"Because I stayed?"

"Well why else—"

"My family needed me! I couldn't just leave them while they were still dealing with what happened to Fred."

"Which is why I _told_ you I would wait. I didn't want to leave you. You're the one who told me to leave."

Her works seemed to hit their mark and Hermione immediately felt horrible when a flash of guilt crossed Ron's face. She was the one who'd messed up, yet here she was, trying to shift the blame back to him. Hermione hated herself for resorting to such tactics but told herself she'd make it up to him if it meant they could fix their broken relationship.

Ron finally spoke in a quiet voice. "I couldn't-I didn't want you to resent me, alright?"

"Why would I resent you?" she whispered back.

"Because. You'd already sacrificed so much. I mean, Merlin, you sent your parents to another country. You erased yourself from their memories to keep them safe. You went all year worrying about them, wondering if they were safe, if you'd done enough." She tried to speak but Ron silenced her with a look. "Don't say you didn't. I could tell how awful it was for you. I can always tell when you're worried." She nodded, not knowing what else to say. "I wanted you to stay. I did. But I knew I couldn't ask you to do that. You'd already sacrificed so much to help Harry, to help everyone. You _needed _to see them and set things right. And I wasn't going to be the one who kept you from them."

Tears were running down Hermione's cheeks as she listened to him. "Why didn't you just say that?" she pleaded, wishing he'd just talked to her, so that this whole mess might've been avoided. "Why didn't you explain. I would've understood."

"Because I'm a prat, alright?"

"Ron," Hermione sighed, hating to see him put himself down after he'd come so far, hating that it was her fault he still blamed himself for things that were her fault.

"What? It's true. Everything was happening so fast. You were leaving and George…George was a mess. I knew I was already starting to muck things up. I couldn't give you the time you deserved, the time _we _deserved. I thought if you left and fixed things with your parents…and I stayed and helped George and everyone...that when you got back I'd be ready to really commit to us."

Hermione wanted to scream. _Why did he have to be so noble, so wonderful, so selfless? _He'd put aside what he wanted for her sake and the sake of his family. He'd been terrified of bungling a relationship they both knew was incredibly fragile after years of buildup and done what he thought was best to give them a fighting chance.

And she'd thrown it in the dirt and spat on it. She didn't deserve another chance, didn't deserve Ron. But she knew she _wanted_ him more than ever.

"So that last night…when you stopped us…"

Ron shrugged again. "I wanted to. Merlin you have no idea how long I'd waited for that moment. But it didn't feel right. I didn't know if you really wanted to or just thought you had to because you were leaving. And I knew if we had…it would've been to hard. I would've have been able to let you go. And you needed to go."

Hermione wiped away her tears, only to have them replaced by another round. Oh how she wished they'd gone through with it. Even if it didn't change anything, at least she'd be able to hold onto that wonderful memory of being with him completely, something she doubted would ever happen now. "I wish we would've," she said, sniffling.

"It would've been a mistake," Ron said assuredly.

She opened her mouth that making love to him could never be a mistake, no matter what the circumstances, that she'd been ready to give herself to him for years, but the words wouldn't come. And she knew it was because she was still holding on to one last secret.

"Ron, there's something I haven't told you."

"What? You're going to tell me he wasn't the only one? What were you doing: trying to snog every bloke in Australia?"

Hermione felt hurt at his accusations, but suppressed her pain. She was not the wronged party here and after what she'd done any accusation Ron could throw at her was warranted. "No…no it was just Nathan."

"Then what?" Ron shouted. "What could be worse than you snogging another guy that you still haven't told me?"

Hermione steadied herself, though it didn't do much good. "We…we…"

"Just say it," he growled.

"We did more than just snog." Hermione looked down at her lap. She couldn't look at him, but she sensed the oncoming outburst.

"What! You fucked him!"

"No! I mean, I don't-I don't know."

Ron laughed cruelly, though he broke off in the middle to cough, and she wondered if he was trying not to cry. "How can you not know if you fucked someone?"

"I was pissed. Nathan, he took me—"

"I thought you said you only had the one date?" Ron interjected.

"I did. We did, but we were also friends…sort of. He'd graduated from university and wanted to celebrate. He brought me along to this party because things had been…awkward…between us after our date." Ron remained silent and Hermione somehow found the strength to continue. "And I was such a mess. I was so confused. I missed you…and Harry so much but I didn't know what to do. I knew I'd mucked things up by not writing more, not explaining what I was doing and I didn't know how to fix it. And Nathan…" she wavered, running a hand through her hair, "Nathan saw that I guess. He thought I needed to relax, needed a night of from worrying."

"Ruddy git," Ron mumbled, as Hermione paused to hiccup.

"So we went back to his flat afterwards. My parents had never seen me pissed before-I'd never _been _pissed before. And I was so confused and lonely and I wasn't thinking clearly. I just missed you so much I…got caught up with things."

When she finished she looked up at Ron and found him staring at her. "So what happened?" he asked, strangely calm.

She was a moment in finding her voice. She knew if Ron didn't already hate her, he would after he heard what she was about to say."

"Well we kissed…I kissed him and…" God it was so hard not to make excuses, not to blame the alcohol for her mistakes. "And I don't…the rest isn't very clear, but when we woke up…I…" she blushed, embarrassed to be describing such a thing to Ron, though she knew it was probably a thousand times worse for him to hear. "I wasn't dressed. I couldn't remember, but there were…flashes, bits, pieces," she finished lamely, unable to continue.

"So you really don't remember—"

"No."

"So there's a chance you didn't…"

She hesitated. She could lie. She could tell Ron that she didn't know what really happened between her and Nathan that night. She could try and salvage whatever chance remained for them to work this out. But she knew she'd lied to him for too long already. If she didn't stop now, she never would and that was something she couldn't live with. "No," she said finally, her voice quaking. "I mean I left as soon as I woke up. And I never asked him, but I'm sure we…" her tears overwhelmed her, drowning the rest of her words.

For a moment Ron didn't react as she struggled to regain her composure and she wondered if he'd even heard her. His head was hung low, obscuring his face.

"Ron?" she asked timidly, her words met with only silence. "Ron did you—"

"Yeah," he croaked. "I heard you."

And then he looked up, smiling broadly like they'd been chatting about the Cannons rather than the man she'd cheated on him with.

"Well, I'm glad he could give you what I couldn't," Ron said, standing and moving toward the door. "Though I guess he couldn't have been too good if you couldn't even remember it. You really know how to pick 'em, huh?" he said, laughing.

"Ron please," Hermione said, standing for the first time in what felt like hours. "Don't leave. Not like this."

"What else is there to say?" he said, turning around to face her, and for a moment she thought she saw his eyes shimmer in the flickering blue light. She wanted to reach out to comfort him. It felt like decades since they'd touched, since he'd last held her and she felt his love for her. But she knew such an act would probably have the exact opposite effect of the one she intended.

"I don't know," she sobbed brokenly. "But there must be something. It can't end like this. I won't let it." Ron was still as stone. "The night of the ball. You still wanted me that night even though you knew…even though you knew there'd been someone else."

"Yeah well you're forgetting how that night ended then."

She pressed on. "But it still didn't stop you."

"I didn't know you'd shagged the bloke!"

"What difference does that make?" she shouted.

"Because it changes _everything_!"

"But why? Just because I slept with him?"

"Yes," Ron hissed, wincing at the reminder of her betrayal.

"Why is that so important?"  
>"Are you really this thick? I'm a bloke! We care about this shite! We want to be a girl's first: their first boyfriend, their first kiss, their first shag. I knew Krum got to you on the first two but I thought there was still something left for me to…" he trailed off.<p>

Hermione cowered. She wanted to remind Ron that Viktor had never been her boyfriend, but realized the semantics didn't really matter to him. They'd been together and it didn't matter to Ron what label she'd used to identify her relationship with Viktor. But he was also wrong; there was still one category where Ron had been her first, and so far, her only.

"You were the first to take my heart. You were the first boy I fell in lo—"

"Don't!" Ron said, his eyes blazing with the full-force of his restored anger. "Don't you _dare _pretend like you loved me. You don't have that right."

"But I did, Ron! I do!" she pleaded, begging for him to believe her. "I just wish I'd told you before you left so you'd believe me."

"But you didn't," he said coldly.

"No, and you have no idea how much that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I regret the most out of everything that happened. If I had, maybe I wouldn't have doubted…"

"Doubted what? That I loved you? I _told _you, didn't I? It's not my fault that you didn't care."

Hermione protested. "Don't you understand sometimes the words aren't enough?"

"What, and shagging you would've been?"

"I…don't know," Hermione admitted, feeling defeated. Of course sex wouldn't just magically fix everything between them. But then why did the fact that she'd slept with someone else mean it was beyond repair? "I just know how I feel."

"And I know that you don't. You can't. You couldn't."

"How? You can you be so sure of what I feel?" she yelled.

"Look, this guy…"

"Nathan?"

"Whatever. You fancied him."

"I-I…" She didn't know how to answer that, so she ignored the question. "I fancy you. I love _you._"

"Stop saying that!" Ron yelled, grabbing her arm tightly before quickly released her and looking ashamed. It was just an instant, but she could still feel the heat from his touch through her jumper. "Sorry," he said. "Listen. I just meant, you liked him. Even with your feelings for me, you liked him, right?'

"I—"

"And Krum too. It was the same thing."

She wanted to pull her hair out over this argument she thought had been settled ages ago. "Ron I was _fifteen_. And I didn't even know you fancied me. You didn't know either," she reminded him.  
>"I know! I'm not-I'm not blaming you." She looked at him skeptically. "Really. I'm trying to make a point." She calmed herself as he shuffled nervously, preparing to continue, like he was worried about what he was about to say might cost him. "You're the only girl I've ever fancied."<p>

This she couldn't believe. She was still hurt and angry and hurting, but she couldn't help but laugh. "Oh really? Then what about Fleur? What about Madam Rosemerta? What about bloody Lavender?"

"Just…argh. Just _listen_, alright?" Ron said, and Hermione quieted, letting him continue. "Yeah, I mean, I liked the way they looked. I mean, they're fit birds and all, and…and I'm a bloke, aren't I?" Hermione swallowed the retort she wanted to throw at him and nodded. _He has a point_, she reminded herself, though she wished he'd get there soon. "Right. But just because I thought they, err, looked nice and all, doesn't mean I felt anything for them. I mean, you know I didn't with Lavender. You saw how much I hated going out with her with all that 'Won Won' shite. And Fleur's a Veela. And I…I was fourteen and…a bit of a pig," he admitted. "I couldn't help that. And Madam Rosmerta…fuck, I mean c'mon. She's almost old enough to be my mum. But they're girls-women, so yeah, I looked."

"I noticed," she said dryly.

"Right. What I'm trying to say is if I'd thought you were an option I wouldn't have looked at any of them twice. But you…you actually fancied Krum…and this Nathan. Even if all you meant to do was a bit of kissing, you still wanted to date them. You did date them."

Hermione wanted to restate that she and Nathan had only ever been on one real date, and the same for Viktor, but she doubted that clarification would matter to Ron. And really, what did it matter? His point stood. "So what? You could fancy all sorts of girls, but I couldn't look at another guy?"

"That's _not _what I'm saying. Merlin you're not even listening to me."

"Then what—"

"Yeah I'd have been jealous alright? Of course I would've, like you with Lavender. The difference is, for me, you were _it_. You were the only one, ever, that I had feelings for."

"It was the same for me. I only wanted you."

"But you didn't. You can tell yourself that but it's not true. Maybe you did want me more, but you were happy with them, right? I mean, I know you had feelings for Krum, so don't deny it. And I thought I was okay with that. I _was _okay with it. Because I mean, he's a Quidditch star and rich and all that. And I know that doesn't matter to you," he added as she opened her mouth to protest. "You liked him because he noticed you. Because he was nice to you while I was a total prat. But then we figured things out and it didn't matter anymore that you'd fancied Krum. I'd snogged Lavender, so what could I say about it? But you found this other guy in what? A matter of days? A couple of weeks at most? And it was the same thing all over again. And I don't care if I messed up by pushing you away or whatever. You should've known better. You should've known how I felt, the same way I knew…at least I thought I knew until I saw you with him. I sort of figured it out after I got back."

"What?" she asked breathlessly.

His cold eyes met hers. "There will always be someone like that: Krum, this Nathan guy. It doesn't really matter. A part of you knows that I'm not good enough for you, so you'll keep looking for excuses to run away, to get rid of me, to be with someone else. It doesn't even matter if there really is someone out there who's good enough; something keeps telling you that I'm not it."

Hermione sank back down into her chair. So this was it: Ron didn't want her now because a small part of her had wanted someone else, someone who wasn't Ron when she couldn't have him. She didn't even bother trying to convince him that he was everything she could ever want and more. Her actions spoke louder than her words to paraphrase what she'd told him earlier.

But still, things didn't quite add up.

"What if I'd told you?" she asked. He didn't look at her. "Ron. Would it have made a difference if I'd told you everything right away?"

"Why does it matter? You didn't. End of story."

"I just…" Why _did _it matter? He was right after all. "Because I have to know. I have to know when I…when I lost you."

Ron mussed his hair. "I don't know. I want to say I would've understood. I mean I though that's what I wanted. But that was before I knew…"

"I really did want to tell you. Every time I saw you, it got harder: to tell you the truth, to keep lying. I think I knew if I told you, you wouldn't want me. I mean I remember the last time when you found out about Viktor…"

"Right. So you thought you'd just never tell me?"

"No!"

"Then what? Tell me; what was your plan? Were you just going to keep pretending until we'd patch things up and then casually inform me that you'd cheated?"

"You make it sound so horrible," she sobbed. "Like I was trying to manipulate you."

"Well weren't you?"

"I-I don't know," she confessed. "Maybe. I guess I'd thought if we'd made up and were happy again you'd be more inclined to forgive me."

"What kind of fucked up logic is that?"

"I don't know!" she wailed. "I know it was stupid. I never claimed I was good at this sort of thing. But can you blame me? Look where we're at now. I was scared of how you'd react, of _this _happening."

"You still should've told me," Ron said.

"Would that have made it any better? I mean look at us: has the truth made anything better? All I've done is hurt you even more."

Ron didn't say anything for a long while, and she took his silence as a confirmation.

"I kissed some Muggle," he said out of nowhere.

"What?"

"At Percy's engagement party. It was when our names were all over the Prophet. We all went to this Muggle club where we wouldn't get recognized. I got pissed and danced with this one bird and she and I sorta…"

Hermione was surprised how much this admission hurt: she had no right to feel pain by this admission, no right to feel betrayed when it was nothing compared to what she'd done. But she felt like her heart had been ripped wide open again, the same as it had felt every time she'd watched him with Lavender.

"Well that's…that's understandable. You were angry—"

"It didn't have anything to do with that. I just wanted to move on. I wanted to forget you." He coughed again. "Guess that says it all doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh _cone on_. We both jump at any chance to get off with anyone but each other. It's been that way since fourth year."

Hermione felt her dread triple as she listened to his words. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that there's something wrong with _us_! It's like there's something not right about it."

"Ron—"

"I mean friends shouldn't do this to one another. People in love don't do this sort of thing."

"Are you…" she hesitated, dreading the answer to her question but needing to ask. After all, it was the whole reason she'd come here today, the reason she'd put Ron through even more pain and anguish. "Are you saying there's no chance for us to work things out?"

Ron let out a bitter laugh. "You're joking right?"

I love you," she cried, needing to say it even though he cringed at the sound of her voice. "I know you don't want to hear it right now and you don't believe me, but it's true and I want to prove it to you. I _need _to make it up to you. I need _us_. You have no idea how sorry I am. I'd do _anything_…"

"You think this is something you can just fix with an apology?" Ron asked incredulously. "You think this is something I can just f_orget_?"

"I forgave you when you left," she said. Immediately she felt guilt strike her as soon as the words escaped her lips. She hated herself for sinking to bringing up Ron's biggest regret. She knew how guilty he felt, how much it still bothered him and probably would for the rest of his life. She wanted to tell him that she'd forgiven him even before he came back. But just like then, she was punishing him undeservedly. Because she wanted him back. And as she'd learned when she asked McLaggen to Slughorn's party, she knew there was no depth to which she wouldn't sink for the sake of Ron Weasley.

"That's totally different. I mean the Horcrux…"

She forgot herself for a moment, forgot everything they'd been talking about and how important it was. Was he going to finally explain what he'd seen? What he'd heard when he destroyed the locket? Twice she'd asked him about it and twice he'd refused to answer her. And for him to keep that secret told her it was something that still haunted him.

"Never mind," he said

Why won't you talk about it? You wouldn't tell me what happened back then, and you still won't bring it up now."

"You destroyed one too. You should know it's not something I'd want to talk about."

"You were there for mine," she reminded him.

"Yeah but I didn't see anything, did I" he retorted.

"I'd-I'd tell you. If you wanted to know," she said hopefully.

"I reckon we can't handle revealing any more secrets. Don't you?"

It was a bittersweet feeling to have Ron look to her for confirmation, as he always seemed to when he was unsure of something. Even after everything, he still thought she held the answers. But in this case he was right. After all, there was still one secret she'd never told him, one she'd never told anyone and planned to take to her grave. And if he didn't want to tell her his, she had no right to demand the truth from him.

"Yes. It's okay to have secrets. As long as you don't forget there are people you can trust and who trust you in-return."

Ron seemed to ponder this for a moment before his shoulders slumped. "Yeah, well, my list is pretty short these days."

Their eyes met for the first time in ages across the flames. They just stared at one another in silence for ages before Ron finally spoke. "We should probably get back to the shop. Our order's been up for ages," Ron joked lamely.

"What time is it?" she asked, putting out the fire.

"Nearly five," he told her.

"God, is it really?" Hermione asked, now panicking. "I need to find Ginny. The Castle's closing soon and we won't be able to get back in and—" She broke off, realizing that to find Ginny, she'd have to say goodbye to Ron, leave things between them up in the air. "Ron—"

"You should hurry," he told her. When she didn't move, he went on. "C'mon. Can't have the Head Girl caught breaking curfew," Ron said, giving her a bit of a forced smile.

"Will I…"

"Quidditch match next weekend," he said, understanding the question she was about to ask without hearing it. "Verse Hufflepuff, right? Harry told me."

"You'll be there?" Hermione asked hopefully, not sure why he'd want to see her again, but not really caring either.

"Wouldn't miss it."

She knew he was going for Ginny's sake and not hers, but at least she knew that even after everything they'd said to one another today, Ron Weasley wasn't completely gone from her life, even if it was only the thinnest of thread that still connected them.

_20 February, 1999_

The screams and cheers of the crowd roared around Hermione as the match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff who, as far as she could tell, had fielded a very strong team this year, wore on. Their secret weapons were their two new Beaters who probably could've given Fred and George a run for their money. They'd taken out Demelza early, just seven minutes into the match with a blow to the chest that shattered her sternum, which had left Gryffindor down a Chaser. As a result, Hufflepuff quickly pulled ahead until they were over a hundred points up.

As she listened to Harry and Ron, the only members of Ginny's family who'd shown up today, chat on, they made it clear that Ginny catching the Snitch was the only way to eek out a Gryffindor victory. Of course, as soon as Harry said this, The Hufflepuff beaters took aim and sent Ginny reeling with a blow to her right shoulder which left her clutching her broom with one hand while her right arm hung limply.

"You see the Harpies' scout anywhere?" Ron asked Harry, leaning over Hermione to do so, having to shout over the roars of the crowd as Hufflepuff scored again, making the score 220 to 90.

"How would I know what he looks like?" Harry yelled back, covering Teddy's head with the hood of his jumper as a gust of wind kicked up.

"She."

"What?"

"It'll be a she. The whole Harpies' organization is women. Not just the players but the coaches, the owner, the staff, even the bloody healers are all birds. It's sexism if you ask me," Ron said, sounding disgruntled as he did his best to scan the crowd for the scout, keep an eye on the Quaffle and watch Ginny all at once. It was maddeningly impossibly, but it didn't stop him from trying.

"Well how am I supposed to know what _she _looks like?" Harry asked.

"I can look for her so you two can watch the match," Hermione volunteered.

"Sure, thanks," Ron said, not even looking at her.

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she started looking through the crowd, as clueless as Harry about what she was supposed to be looking for. Okay, so things with Ron were still a total disaster. And she didn't know if her attempt to explain things had done more good than harm. But at least Ron still allowed her to sit here, sandwiched between the two people she cared about most in the world.

Actually it was quite odd to be watching a Quidditch match with both Ron and Harry. The only other time she could remember doing so was the Quidditch World Cup and she found herself wishing fondly for those simpler times, though it was just nice to sit there and listen to them go on and on about the feint Neil Dobbins had just pulled off to score for Gryffindor. So nice in fact that she almost regretted all the times she'd ever harped on the boys for banging on about Quidditch in front of her.

"Look! The Snitch!" Harry said, pointing with one hand at the little golden ball his sharp eyes had spotted, while clutching Teddy to him with the other.

"Ginny sees it," Ron said. And sure enough, Hermione saw Ginny go into a steep dive after it. A second later the Hufflepuff Seeker followed suit.

"The Hufflepuff Seeker's closer," said Ron.

"Yeah, but Ginny's still accelerating. And with a Firebolt…"

And sure enough, Harry was right. While the Hufflepuff seeker had started out much closer to the Snitch than Ginny, he'd been facing the wrong direction until he'd spotted Ginny rocketing toward the ground, and by the time he'd gotten himself straightened out, Ginny had closed the distance to within two meters and was still gaining. Hermione could see the two players jostling each other, the Hufflepuff player digging his shoulder into Ginny's injured one, nearly throwing her off course. But Ginny pushed on, both hands leaving her broom as she extended her left hand to catch the Snitch.

"And Ginny Weasley catches the Snitch!" shouted the announcer. "Gryffindor wins "260 to 250!" But the cheers that erupted suddenly turned into cries of distress as Ginny shot away from her broom at the speed of a torpedo and crashed into the ground. Immediately Hermione felt Harry shoving little Teddy into her arms before he took off after Ron toward the pitch to make sure Ginny was alright. Baby in her arms, Hermione did her best to follow, trying to avoid letting the crowd jostle her and Teddy too badly.

Before she could even reach the huddle that Ron, Harry, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and several staff members had formed around Ginny, she saw her friend being magicked onto a stretcher and floated off the field and into the locker room. Hermione followed at a distance, coming in to find Professors Sprout and McGonagall watching alongside the anxious Gryffindors while Madam Pomfry went to work.

Thankfully it was only a minute or two before Ginny's eyes fluttered open, looking dazed but mostly alright.

"Well you've cracked a rib with that fall, and that Bludger seems to have broken your clavicle and humerus," said Madam Pomfry.

"You'll be able to fix her, right?" asked Harry worriedly.

"Well of course I'll be able to fix her Mr. Potter. This isn't the first Bludger injury I've worked on after all." And sure enough, Madam Pomfry's wand passed over Ginny's injuries as she muttered some indiscernible incantation. "Here, drink this," she said, handing Ginny a bottle of green liquid from her bag.

"Ugh, tastes like bogies," Ginny said, making a face as she swallowed.

"Honestly. You students make more fuss over the medicine than the actual injuries," Madam Pomfry tutted. "Well, that's about all I can do down here. We need to move you to the Hospital Wing. I have some ointments that'll speed the healing. I'm sure if you allow yourself to rest, you should back on your feet come morning."

"Thank you Poppy," said Professor McGonagall. "Why don't you head up to check on Miss Robins and get things ready? I'll make sure Miss Weasley arrives there safely."

Madam Pomfry nodded and left, followed by Professor Sprout now that things were under control. Immediately Ron set in on Ginny.

"What the hell were you thinking out there?" he shouted, his previously restrained anger bursting forth despite McGonagall's lingering presence. "That was about the dumbest flying I've ever seen!"

"I caught the Snitch, didn't I?" Ginny said, smiling and shrugging off Ron's anger.

"And almost killed yourself doing it."

"Look who's talking, Mr. 'Quidditch is more important than life itself.'"

"Yeah, but not literally."

"Didn't you make a deal with Fred once that if you swallowed a vial of poison and survived, he'd buy you tickets to a Cannons match?" She grinned, but Ron's scowl didn't crack, and she realized he really wasn't finding the situation amusing and looked to Harry for support. But while he'd refrained from saying anything, it was clear from his face that he was in the same mind as Ron about the whole thing.

"I _had _too," Ginny explained, her tone no longer joking. "You were watching. That was my last chance to get the Snitch. Even if I'd caught it later, Hufflepuff would've been more than a hundred-and-fifty points ahead and we'd have lost."

"You only did that 'cause you knew that Harpies scout would be here today," said Ron.

"Was she?" Ginny asked excitedly.

"Argh. I knew it. Gin, what good would it be to impress her if you broke your neck in the process?" said Harry.

"Fat load of shite, that's what," Ron said before Ginny could reply

"Both of you would've done the same thing," Hermione said, speaking up for the first time. Ginny looked grateful but the boys just glared. "What? You would've."

"She's right," said Ginny, fixing both boys with a look.

"Just because she said it doesn't make it right," said Ron angrily to Ginny, even though he was talking about Hermione. "She doesn't have all the answers."

She knew Quidditch wasn't her strong-suit, but she knew both Ron and Harry well enough that they wouldn't have hesitated to do what Ginny had if they'd been in her position, scout or not. "Ron, if you have a problem with me…that's-that's fine. But don't take it out on Ginny."

"I'm angry at Ginny," he insisted.

Ginny snorted. "Sure sounds like it."

Ron glared at his sister, but she was unfazed.

"Mrs. Weasley, perhaps now would be the time to get you up to the hospital wing," said Professor McGonagall awkwardly, reminding the four teenagers of her presence. Hermione blushed embarrassed, and even Ron had the decency to look ashamed of his behavior in front of the Headmistress.

"Here, I'll go with you," said Harry, his angry slowly dissipating thanks to Ginny's and Hermione's words and his more pressing desire to get Ginny fixed up.

"I want to stay and watch," Ginny said, nodding to Ron and Hermione. Unfortunately she didn't have much say in the matter as McGonagall levitated the stretcher she was on and took her out of the locker room. Harry took Teddy from Hermione and following behind looking concerned. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at his two best friends.

"Look, just…don't kill each other, alright?" he asked.

Hermione gave him a weak smile but Ron didn't even turn to look at him, still fixated on the spot where Ginny had lain.

"Ron we can't keep doing this. You can't keep putting Harry and Ginny in the middle of this when I'm the one you're angry at."

"Me? You're saying _I_ put them in the middle of this? How is that my fault? You're the one who caused this whole situation, not me."

"Ron that's not fair," she pleaded. "Ron, look at me. Look at me!" Finally he turned and again she got that chilling feeling of being looked through, like Ron's eyes were x-rays slicing through her skin and bones to peer into her soul. When she spoke again, her voice was no longer loud; now it was barely a whisper. "I'm-I know you hate me—"

"I don't," Ron cut her off, his voice disturbingly quiet, but the sound was deafening to her.

"You don't?" she said, unable to keep hope out of her voice. She couldn't comprehend what could've happened in a week's time to change his feelings so drastically.

He shook his head. "I tried. Merlin knows I want to. But I…I just don't. I understand."

She looked at him in confusion. _He understands_? How was that even possible? Even she didn't understand how things had gotten so messed up between them, and she was the cause of most of it._ And if he does, then why is he still so…_

"Ron, what do you mean?" she asked. The time had long passed for misunderstandings between them. Hermione needed them to be on the same page from now on.

"You know when I asked you if you fancied Nath-_him_?" Ron asked, shoulders slumping. She nodded. "I think…I think I finally understand how you could fancy someone else. All these years I thought…I thought you were _it_, the only one for me. And if I couldn't have you, if you didn't want me, that was that. I'd have to just settle for being alone." He took a breath, seeming to summon the courage to continue on, and she wondered where he was going with this. "But I'm not sure if I believe that anymore."

Hermione prayed she was misinterpreting his meaning. "Does that mean you…found someone?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

As soon as it was out his mouth, Ron seemed to regret what he'd said. But it was too late. Hermione's heart had stopped beating.

She'd never expected this; never thought it was possible. It had always seemed more likely that Ron could hate her, actually hate her—something he'd just said was impossible—than for him to find someone else. Even when he'd been with Lavender and shaken all of Hermione's self-confidence, she'd never thought Ron could fall in love with the blonde, never pictured them getting married someday, getting a house together and filling it with little red-haired children.

"What…what…" Hermione's mouth moved to form the words, but no sound escaped her lips, but Ron seemed to understand the question. Of course he could. Who knew her better? "Who—"

"I'm not-I don't…nothing's happened," Ron explained. "I just…I understand how you could want someone else, that it's not just either _us _or _nothing_."

Hermione couldn't speak, could barely think.

"Look. Maybe this is a good thing," Ron continued, and Hermione hated the sound of his voice as he spoke. It was so full of...what? Pity? Is that what it was? "Maybe it'll be good for us, yeah? Give us a chance to go back to being just friends, even."

Ron tried to smile at her, but Hermione could look at him no longer. They hadn't been 'just friends' in about five years. No, she couldn't possible see how _this _could be a good thing at all. Ron's words were a confirmation of Ginny's a month earlier: Ron was finally done fighting for her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This chapter's title comes from lyrics in the song "Give You My Lovin'" by Mazzy Star off their album _She Hangs Brightly._

Not exactly my best chapter, I know. Think the weight of my own expectations and all the build-up all but guaranteed it to fail.

So hopefully this is the longest chapter in the entire fic. I don't really have much else to say about it, except to remind everyone that we have a lot of story left.


	21. CH20: Rid of Me

**A/N: **Wow. All I can say is wow. The responses from you guys has really been overwhelming, especially for the last chapter. And I'm really and truly grateful for all your reviews and reads and alerts and just everything. Seriously, it means so much to me to read your reactions.

So a big thanks to **GameOver, Hilary, review, Marie, milan4ever, AddisonAddicted, Melissa, Sabosh, ObsessedRHShipper, TeaCozyElf, placeo13, ravenclawgirl27, oscarpaz00, Kelly, Weak4Weasley, DeLoreanDMC-12, Sandrinha, GingerPygmy99, MsEan, emmrupe4ever, MsBinns, anon, Grown Up Ron, avini, heronlove, tabitoo, onlyjune, anonymous, MonkeyBrains, stochmika, electra, Ugh, Athenais777, vlaovic, DeathEaterPoodle, FightClub18, RyanRow02, HermioneCanDoNoBadYou'reWrong, Love FF, RHrAddict, Mlgregg5, MaybeOnce, Beasley, hptk, selene86, antidote224, anon, newyearzgirl18, mellypotter1223, Nesapuliata22 **(yes, even you), **eliza surpriza, Pamela, nellysh, ozzel1 **and **highkicks**. Oh and **Anne Mary Ellen. **Even if you haven't left a real review, I do appreciate the pm's.

God I just love some of your names. This chapter is dedicated to **Beasley **for giving this fic review #300. Also, one review for the last chapter actually helped me resolve a slight plot hole in a future chapter that I hadn't solved yet. I won't mention who it was yet because it might spoil things if you all rush off to read it, but I'll be sure to credit you when the time comes. Thank you thank you thank you in advance.

And I wanted to wish you all a belated Happy Easter since it somehow slipped my mind last week. I'm running a half-marathon on Sunday so wish me luck. Hopefully I won't drop dead and leave you all waiting for an update to this fic that will never come.

And **superfan24**…well, you know. I couldn't do this without you. You must be doing something right if everyone's trying to steal you away from me.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20: Rid of Me<strong>

_27 June, 1998_

Unbidden by Ron, his feet began to move. They had no plan, no set destination in mind. Hell, they wouldn't even mind trying to _walk _back to England. They just went, before Ron did something stupid like try and to talk to Hermione about what he'd just witnessed.

They carried him quite a ways before Ron's brain started working again. But his thoughts didn't turn to where he was going, or to the increasingly chilly evening. He just kept replaying the moment Hermione's lips met…his. _Squashface _Ron dubbed him, even though he really couldn't recall much of what the fucker had actually looked like. It didn't matter really. He simply couldn't understand why Hermione had kissed him.

For that matter, why hadn't he done anything to stop them? Why, instead of standing there and staring as his world crumbled to ruin, hadn't he bum rushed the bloke, or at least shouted, done something to pull their attention off of one another before that moment of doom?

Had Hermione…had she hesitated? Had she taken a moment to wonder if she was doing the right thing, had thought of him before going through with it?

Ron quickly pushed that idea away. It would only make things worse—if such a thing was possible—if she had, if she'd thought of Ron and still went through with it and kissed Squashface anyway.

Then it struck him how stupid it was to think that was even their first kiss. Just because it had been the first one he'd witnessed, didn't mean it was actually the first. They could've kissed a billion times by now. Hell, Hermione might've snogged a hundred different blokes, and Squashface was simply the latest notch added to her belt. And suddenly he felt better about his utter lack of action to stop it from happening.

Ron knew that Hermione probably _hadn't_ been snogging Australian blokes left and right, but there was no denying that she'd at least snogged one. His thoughts raced backward in time, remembering Ginny shouting how Hermione had snogged Krum, and how much that had hurt. But he'd never actually had to see Krum snog Hermione. It had eaten at him, driven him mad with jealousy at the time, but mostly he'd merely thought of it as confirmation that Hermione would never fancy him, poor, pathetic Ron Weasley…well that and how she'd been lying to him for close to two years about her Bulgarian _pen pal._ It had hurt more having to watch them dance together at the Yule Ball than merely hearing about a snog that had happened two years earlier.

But he would go back and relive that moment a thousand times over to escape the pain he was feeling now. Back then, he was still working out exactly what he felt for his bushy-haired best friend. He'd only just realized that he did in fact fancy her, that he had wanted to go to the ball with her, and not just as friends.

No, as he walked, he realized how little he cared about Krum. Yes, the sodding pumpkin-head had gotten there first, had nearly taken Hermione away from him. But in the end Krum had gone back to Bulgaria and Hermione hadn't seen him again until the wedding and by then, Ron Weasley had sorted his priorities and felt the two of them were finally on the verge of falling into something as scary as any Death Eater and more wonderful than the Cannons winning the League. Hermione had picked him that night, had danced with him that night, might've even kissed him if the wedding hadn't been interrupted. No, continuing to be jealous of Krum was a pointless endeavor that accomplished nothing.

The only thing that really compared was what he'd witnessed that night he'd destroyed the locket, watching Hermione and Harry entwined in each-other's arms, somehow seeming to sneer at him even as they only had eyes for one-another as their lips met over and over.

Briefly he reflected on his decision not to tell Hermione about what he'd suffered that night. He'd had plenty of chances to, both in those first weeks after his return and many times after. It wasn't like he thought she'd laugh at him over how ridiculous it was for him to believe that she saw Harry as anything other than a brother.

His reason for not telling her was twofold. First he knew the Horcrux had been a huge part in Harry forgiving him for leaving. He'd seen what had driven Ron to leave in the first place, seen what no-one else should've ever known. Yes, he'd been grateful for Harry's forgiveness. More than that: he'd needed it. But he hadn't wanted Hermione to forgive him for those reasons. He wanted to earn her forgiveness because that's what she deserved. And slowly but surely he'd done so.

Ron also hadn't told her because he refused to accept her pity and consolation. He hadn't wanted Hermione to feel obligated to tell him how she felt just to remove his doubts driven by his insecurities. If she loved him, she'd tell him when she was ready, when he deserved to be told. And in the end she had, hadn't she? Their kiss in the Room of the Requirement was proof that she'd wanted him. Not Krum, not Harry. Him.

Ron frowned, suddenly unsure. He'd thought that kiss had erased the last of his doubts, but now nothing was certain. Maybe that kiss hadn't been everything he'd imagined it to be. One kiss didn't change anything. It wasn't an Unbreakable Vow binding two people together. Hermione and Krum were proof of that. As were Harry and Cho, Lavender and himself for that matter.

Ron snorted. He'd probably spent thousands of kisses on Lavender back in sixth year and taken altogether they still amounted to less than nothing in his head…and his heart. Maybe it was his fault for assuming things between himself and Hermione were different. He knew he'd never felt that way about anyone else ever before, didn't know it was even possible to care about someone that much. He'd felt that first kiss was something he'd been waiting for his whole life, like it actually _was_ his first kiss, erasing the hours he'd spent with Lavender in broom closets and armchairs in the common room.

He didn't consider himself a romantic bloke, not really. His best ideas hadn't come from his heart but from advice Sirius had given him or from that little book from Fred and George. But Hermione made him _want _to be the type of bloke who swept girls—or rather one very specific girl—off their feet with flowers and poetry and kisses that made them weak in the knees and all that rubbish he'd thought he didn't care about.

Ron felt a sharp pain across his shins and looked to see that he'd walked right into a bench. He realized his feet had carried him to some sort of park with some swings and a little pond where kids probably fed ducks in the summer. Stiff from the cold and exhausted from walking, he collapsed onto the bench and laid his head in his hands.

His thoughts turned back to the Horcrux. During his many long self-imposed silences in those first days after his return done as penance, he'd pictured those horrid visions of his two friends a great deal. He'd finally admitted to himself that he hadn't really believed Harry and Hermione were secretly in love with each other. True, he hadn't known how Hermione felt about Harry, and the attention and praise she showered on their green-eyed best friend was a constant torment to Ron. But he hadn't needed to hear Harry tell him that that he only loved Hermione like a sister. There'd been enough talk about the two of them over the years to convince them that if Harry had harbored secret feelings for Hermione, he would've acted on them a long time ago. And it didn't take someone as brilliant as Hermione to see how crazy Harry was about Ginny.

It had just been…easier, in a way, to imagine the two of them together than it was to picture her with someone else. Against anyone else, even someone like Krum, Ron could hold onto some slight hope, some chance that he could prove to Hermione how he was the better choice, the better man. But not against Harry. He couldn't compete against Harry, and more importantly, he wouldn't want to. If it happened, he'd have no choice but to lay down and accept it or lose the two people he cared about the most. In a way, it had been an excuse; if she wanted Harry, at least Ron couldn't blame it on some failure on his part. Harry was the better man. There was no arguing with that.

But Squashface was nobody. Well, obviously he was somebody, but Ron was sure Hermione hadn't…couldn't have known him before coming here a month ago. It didn't matter if he played Quidditch better than Krum or owned half of Australia, he was still practically a stranger, a stranger Hermione had fallen for and let her forget about Ron Weasley.

A part of him wanted to believe that he was just another McLaggen, just some pretty boy to make him jealous. But not even his wild imagination could convince him that was true. If Hermione was just using him to make Ron jealous, to get Ron to come chasing after her and fight for her love, she was really doing a terrible job of rubbing it in his face. If that was her intent, she could've just owled Ginny and _casually _mentioned the wonderful and charming young man she'd met while sorting things out with her parents, making sure Ron would catch wind of it and fly off the handle to come and steal her back.

No, her lack of correspondence told a very different story. She obviously didn't want him knowing about Squashface. Of course he didn't know why. Perhaps she wasn't in love with the bloke, but only felt he was someone worth exploring and was stringing both of them along until she came to a decision.

As he sat there, his mind came up with a thousand reasons for why Hermione had been on a date tonight. Maybe he was forgetting something. Maybe he'd done something before she left, hurt her or offended her in some way to make her stop loving him. Not that she'd _told _him she loved him. Oh no, he'd been the only one to say that, to put his heart on the line. But while he'd been disappointed not to hear her say it back, something had told him that she loved him too.

Of course he didn't know what to believe now. Did she love him? How could she if she was snogging randoms here in Australia?

_You snogged Lavender when you loved Hermione_, a nasty voice in his head reminded him, the words sounding like sneers, almost hisses, in his mind.

_But that was different, _he argued back. _I didn't know I loved her. I mean I did, but I didn't know I was IN love with her. And it's not like I knew how she felt at the time. At least I made it bloody clear how I felt before she left._

_But did you? _the nasty voice returned. _Did you really?_

_Of course, _he thought, though even inside his own head he didn't sound very convincing. _And even if I didn't, she should've known._

_Like you knew how she felt?_

He didn't have an answer for that one.

Ron's fingers were starting to ache and he realized he'd been gripping the seat of the bench so tightly that it had splintered, the wood biting into his skin. Strangely, he didn't feel any pain however as he looked at his bleeding hands. He fished the Deluminator out of his pocket and turned it over and over. This little thing had brought him to her, twice. He knew it only worked with Hermione because she was the one who held his heart, who held his very soul. In a twisted sense, Hermione was _his _own version of a Horcrux. It certainly felt like his soul had been ripped in two.

The Deluminator slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. Slowly he took out his wand. He didn't have any basilisk fangs handy so a Severing Charm would have to do. He pointed his wand downward.

q"_Diffindo,_" Ron said, but nothing happened to the small silver lighter. "_Diffindo_," he said again, more forcefully. Again, nothing happened. "_Diffindo_! _Diffindo_! _Diffindo_! _Diffindo_!" Ron said, growing more and more enraged each time the spell failed, feeling a wetness on his cheeks. Exhausted, he finally gave up. For all his efforts, there was only a single, small crack in the Deluminator. But he watched, mesmerized as all the light stored inside it began to leak out, floating into the air like small stars before dissipating into the black, leaving him alone again in the dark and the cold.

Ron slumped forward and buried his face in his hands.

…

He didn't know how long he sat on that bench thinking. Hours, days, he couldn't tell. It was still dark out so it couldn't have been that long, but he didn't know if he should believe anything now that his world had been turned upside down. All he was sure of was that he was bloody freezing and soaked to the bone.

"You really need to stop that."

Ron lifted his head, startled to see a young girl standing before him. He hadn't noticed her approach. For all he knew she might've been standing there for ages before speaking.

"I know it's late, but Muggles could still pass by and see you."

In his grief Ron didn't even register her mention of the word 'Muggles.' "The fuck are you talkin' about?"

"Your little cloud. It might seem a bit…_odd_…considering the weather tonight." The girl pointed a wand above his head and Ron looked up. Sure enough, about twenty feet above him floated a thick, black storm cloud amid an otherwise clear sky littered with stars showering him in snow.

_Well that explains why I feel like I've been swimming in the Black Lake_, Ron thought, finding no amusement in the observation; it was cold out, but nowhere near freezing, and the snowflakes melted on contact rather than sticking, and he noticed a rather large puddle had formed around the bench with the girl standing just on its edge.

"You didn't do it on purpose," the girl continued.

"Uh, no," Ron said, embarrassed despite his heartache. He hadn't done accidental magic since he was six. It was practically unheard of for it to happen to a fully-qualified adult wizard.

"I can stop it if you'd like," she offered.

"Sure, yeah."

The girl waved her wand, muttering _Finite Incantatem _quietly and the storm cloud dissolved. "You should dry yourself," the girl told him after it was gone.

Ron wondered why she didn't just wave her wand and fix that for him as well, but he supposed he should just be grateful for the help she'd already offered. After all, if Muggles had seen, he'd be in loads of trouble. And that was without factoring in the fact that he was in the country illegally, without permission from the Australia Ministry. "M'okay," Ron told her, shrugging off her suggestion. If he was performing accidental spontaneous magic, he didn't really trust himself with using a wand safely.

"How did you get here?"

Ron looked at the girl, really looked at her, for the first time, and started. It was hard to make out details in the light of distant streetlamps, but unless his eyes deceived him, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on. Her skin was white as porcelain, her hair straight and long, falling down her back almost to her knees, so blonde it was almost silver, and big blue eyes that never seemed to blink, shining and glassy in the starlight. She reminded him of the dolls his mum had tried and failed to get Ginny to play with as a kid.

Actually, what she really reminded him of was little Gabrielle Delacour. Only this girl…witch…would make Gabrielle look like Millicent Bulstrode if they stood side-by-side. Ron half-expected to find himself drooling as a result of Veela magic, but found his chin surprisingly dry when he went to wipe it.

"Who're you?" he asked blankly.

"Elana."

_Okay, that didn't really help, _Ron thought dryly. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping you."

"And you're a witch?"

"Yes."

"But…but…" he looked her up and down, feeling a bit of a perv for doing so. "But you're no…you don't look…how old are you?" There was absolutely _no way _this girl was seventeen. Which meant she had to have the trace on her and wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school. He quickly racked his brain, trying to remember if his dad or Hermione had ever mentioned something about other countries not using the trace but came up blank.

"Older than you think," was Elana's infuriating answer.

Obviously the girl was being obtuse on purpose, so he tried another approach. "You don't sound Australian."

"I'm not."

"So where're you from?"

"England, the same as you."

"You don't sound like me either."

"I was born in Spain, but I've spent enough time in England to consider it my home."

Ron didn't think that said much, considering she couldn't possibly be older than fourteen or fifteen.

"If you're from England, what are you doing here?"

"Helping you," she repeated.

"So you followed me?" He didn't know how such a thing was possible since he'd used the Deluminator, but it was his best guess.

Elana said nothing. _Merlin, it's easier to get a straight answer out of a sphinx_, Ron thought.

"How did you get here?" she asked.

He pointed to his feet. "Same way as everybody else," he said dryly. _Two can play this game_, he thought. After all, why should he trust this girl? Just because she'd helped him get rid of his little storm cloud?

"You're supposed to be in Devon."

_Now how the fuck does she know that? _"What do you care anyway?"

"It's my job to know." _What did she mean by that, _Ron wondered. _Did she work for the Ministry? _He'd certainly never seen her at Hogwarts, so maybe she wasn't just some kid. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on things."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "You mean Hermione?"

"Yes." With absolutely no subtlety Ron pulled his wand out. "I don't intend her any harm," explained Elana. "Quite the opposite. I'm merely tasked with making sure she remains safe." Ron didn't really believe her, but he was in no state to puzzle things out. "Do you have a way back?" she asked.

"What?"

"Back to England? Can you go back the same way you came?"

"Uh…" Somehow Ron had the feeling the Deluminator was more of a one-way ticket. And he doubted it would work at all now that it was broken. "No, I can't," he admitted.

"You do realize you'll be in a lot of trouble for coming here if the Ministry finds out."

"Yeah, thanks for the warning," he said sarcastically, finally standing and casting a Drought Charm on himself which only managed to siphon up maybe half the moisture soaking his close. But it was at least an improvement.

"Do you have means to get back the Muggle way? By ship or airplane?"

Ron knew he had six Galleons and four sickles in his pocket. Even if that was enough, he didn't know where he could go to exchange it for Muggle money, let alone knew the first thing about figuring out how Muggle transport actually worked. Hell, he didn't even know where in Australia he was. "No," he admitted.

"I can take you back."

"You can?"

Elana reached into her robes and pulled out some wrappings. "What is it?" he asked, eyeing it warily while remembering Malfoy's cursed necklace from sixth year.

"A Portkey. It'll bring me back to where I left. You're welcome to come with me and make your way back to Devon from there."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

"Are you ready to go now?" Elana asked.

Ron didn't know how to answer. Honestly he wasn't _ready _to do anything. He wanted to talk to Hermione, but couldn't bear to think about what he'd actually say. Yes, he had a very strong desire to shout at her and demand some sort of explanation, but what was the point of that? He had a very strong suspicion that anything she said would only make him feel worse, not better. And after seven years of fighting with her over every little thing, Ron Weasley was exhausted.

Well if he wasn't going to confront her, what point was there in staying? She was his whole reason for coming, and now he'd seen what a wasted effort that had been. "Yeah," Ron said. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"You shouldn't leave that here," she said, pointing to the puddle. Ron had no idea what she was talking about until he remembered the Deluminator. He didn't really want the thing, not anymore—it was broken after all, so he doubted it would still work—but he did as instructed anyway. Better not to leave any evidence behind.

Elana used her other hand to carefully unwrap the Portkey, revealing a sphere—reminiscent of the prophecies he'd seen in the Department of Mysteries, though the Portkey contained none of the strange, swirling liquid the prophecies had and seemed to be made of simple glass. As she worked, careful not to touch the sphere, Elana's robes slid down her arms a bit and Ron caught a glimpse of some strange markings on her wrists which seemed to continue in a strange pattern up her arms. Tattoos, the strangest ones he'd ever seen. They almost looked like runes, but Ron couldn't be sure as the only runes he'd ever seen were in Hermione's copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, which he admittedly hadn't looked at too closely having never studied the subject.

_Surely no fourteen year-old would have markings like those covering her arms_, he thought.

Elana must have finally noticed her tattoos were showing, or else she'd caught him staring, for she fixed her sleeves to cover them once more before holding out the orb between them.

"It's touch-activated, so we'll have to grab it at the same time or one of us will be left behind," she told him.

"This Portkey's illegal, isn't it?" he asked, already sure of the truth but curious if she'd actually admit it.

"It's as legal as the method you used to get here. Now come. Watch my hands and grab it when I do."

Ron reached his fingers out and held them near the orb. As Elana's fingers inched closer and closer he wondered if it wouldn't be the worst thing to leave her stranded there and go back to England without her. But that would mean leaving her near Hermione, and he didn't like that idea much either, regardless of his current feelings toward the bushy-haired witch or the possibly benign intentions of the strange witch before him. And besides, surely whoever had asked her to 'keep an eye on things' would come looking for her sooner or later.

So he waited until Elana's was about to touch the orb before reaching his fingers across that that last half-inch and felt himself pulled into oblivion.

…

It was quite dark, wherever the Portkey spat them out and Ron guessed they had to be miles from any city, though the warm June air felt wonderful on his chilled limbs. He was still picking himself up when Elana started giving him directions.

"You should be close enough to Apparate back to Scotland, somewhere near Hogwarts. From there you can Apparate to London. I'm sure you can make your way back home to Devon after that."

"We're back in England?" Ron asked, looking around. The terrain was barren and rocky. He could hear the crashing of waves and looked behind him to see they were on the edge of a cliff that fell into the sea. "Where are we?"

"What does it matter exactly where we are? You'd be best served to forget this place. And myself," said Elana.

"Why?" he asked. He was quite fed up with the mystique and women who liked to keep secrets.

"Because if you tell anyone, I'll be forced to reveal that you entered Australia without permission and performed magic in an area where you might've been spotted by Muggles," she threatened.

So she was going to play dirty. "Fine," Ron said. "Maybe I'll just hang around for a bit, get my strength back."

"Suit yourself. Stay as long as you like."

Ron tried to do just that, plunking himself down and drawing in the dirt with the tip of his wand while he waited to see if Elana did anything. He didn't really understand what this girl was all about. She seemed so young, so weak and fragile, but her words carried an authority Ron felt would be smart to obey. But if this was some secret hideout or something, why bring him here in the first place? Or why not just stun him, Obliviate his memory and dump him in Diagon Alley.

Actually an _Obliviate _didn't sound too bad. _Downright tempting, _he thought. He could forget everything about this horrid night, including Hermione.

But that wouldn't change anything. He'd just go back to worrying about her and waiting for a letter that probably wasn't coming. Meanwhile, she'd still be off snogging Squashface while he sat around a loyal yet gullible dunce, pining for a girl who'd already moved on.

Ron had been set on waiting around to see if someone came to meet Elana or if she wandered off and revealed something important, but she seemed perfectly content to stand there like a statue and wait for him to leave. And his impatience and exhaustion were finally catching up to him; if he didn't find a bed soon, he might fall asleep right there on the ground only to wake up gagged and chained in some dungeon or something. So he stood, dusted himself off and prepared to Apparate, hoping his magic was back under-control.

"Thanks," he told Elana. He still didn't trust her, or particularly like her for that matter, but there was something innately innocent about her that made it impossible to think of her as evil or dangerous. And he _was _grateful for her help.

"Safe travels, Ronald Weasley. It would be wise to remain cautious, especially when you find yourself down darkened alleyways."

Ron didn't know what to make of that. He took one last look at Elana staring out over the sea, though something gave him the impression she wasn't really seeing it, then Apparated just outside of Hogsmeade, and then again to Diagon Alley.

It was draining, harder than ever before. And as soon as he arrived, he checked to make sure all his vital body parts were still where they should be. Thankfully everything important was still there. He'd never felt so exhausted by such relatively simple magic and decided to use the shop's fireplace to Floo home rather than risk another Apparition. But the moment he stepped out of the fireplace at the Burrow he was beset on all sides by anxious Weasleys and Harry, bombarding him with questions before he had the time to wipe the soot from his nose.

"Where have you been?"

"Are you alright?"

"You know you missed supper."

"Complete irresponsible of you to disappear like this again…"

"Why are your clothes soaked?"

"_Where have you been_?"

"M'fine, m'fine. Just tired," Ron said, shaking off Percy and Fleur who had both been trying to examine him for injuries. "Just got held up at the shop and lost track of time," he lied.

"Oh really?" said Bill. "Because Harry went to check on you when you didn't turn up for supper and found the place locked up and the lights out."

"Err…well yeah. I wasn't at the shop."

"But you just said—" started Percy.

"I got held up with stuff _for _the shop. Had to go meet some suppliers, y'know? We needed more boomslang skin and tentacula leaves," Ron said, doing his best to improvise.

Everyone continued to look at him suspiciously. "You weren't doing anything shady, were you?" asked Percy. "Nothing…illegal?"

"'Course not. It's all on the up-and-up," Ron said.

Bill, Harry and Ginny were still eyeing him warily, but his dad spoke up. "Well as long as you're alright," said Mr. Weasley. "I'm sure you're hungry. Fleur saved you some leftovers," he said, moving toward the kitchen.

"Thanks," said Ron, never feeling more grateful for his father's implicit faith in his children. He didn't want to know what everyone would say if he told them how he'd really spent his afternoon and evening. He turned to Fleur. "Sorry I didn't let you know I was gonna be late."

"Do not be zilly Ronald. Come, I made a brisket and lemon tarts for ze pudding."

"Excellent," Ron said, feeling his mouth water as he followed her to the kitchen. Percy and Bill sat with him as he ate, but their father's presence kept them from asking any of the questions they were clearly dying to have answered.

"Well I'm knackered," Ron said, yawning dramatically when Fleur took the last plate away. "Think I'll turn in. Have to get an early start tomorrow to get things in order so the new recruits can muck it all up on Monday." And without waiting for a response he raced up the stairs to his room without even stopping by the loo to wash up for bed. He could only hope between sleep and the shop he could avoid everyone until the matter was forgotten.

Unfortunately he found Harry and Ginny waiting for him when he opened the door to his room. "Uh…hey," Ron said. "What's up?"

"Maybe you should shut the door," Ginny said sweetly. A little _too_ sweetly, Ron thought, but complied nevertheless.

"Sure."

"So where were you today?"

"I told you. I was—"

"Where were you really?" corrected Ginny.

Ron tried to look innocent but Harry spoke up. "Come off it mate. You're a terrible liar."

It was true. He hadn't expected anyone to be convinced; he'd only hoped the lie would buy him enough time for everyone to forget the whole incident. He should've known these two wouldn't let it go so easily. The question now was how much of the truth did he _need_ to tell them?

But then Hermione was one of the most honest people he knew. And she had no trouble lying when it was necessary, when it came to ruddy pumpkin-headed gits and Australians with squash for brains and faces. He just needed to _omit _certain truths, and he had the perfect example of how to do it.

"I…I got in contact with…Her-with Her-." It was amazing how hard it was to say her name now without his heart feeling like it was being ripped in two.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked and Ron nodded.

Both their jaws dropped. Harry recovered first. "Did she write you again?" he asked. Ron said nothing, letting them draw their own conclusions.

"What did she say?" asked Ginny.

"Is she alright?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, she's fine," said Ron, struggling to keep his voice even. "She's great even. Think things with her mum and dad must be going pretty well."

"Did she say when they're coming back?"

"She…it's a bit more complicated than that I think." They looked at him confused. "I dunno, she really didn't get into it." Merlin this lying thing _was _hard. But he was resolved not to tell them about Squashface. That had nothing to do with Harry or Ginny, and surprisingly, a large part of him felt like it wasn't his place to tell them either. "I don't-I think it'll be a while before they're ready to come back." _If they ever do, _he added silently.

"Are you gonna write her back?" asked Harry, a strange expression on his face.

"Can't," said Ron. And he couldn't, couldn't imagine what he'd say, what he'd want to say.

"She didn't leave a return address again?" asked Ginny.

Ron shook his head. How could she, when there hadn't actually been a letter?

"Are you sure it's from her? I mean what if someone's forcing her to write these letters or pretending to be—"

"It was her, Harry," Ron said. "I'm sure of it."

The two best friends looked into each other's eyes for a long moment before Harry finally turned away, satisfied by whatever he'd seen there.

Ginny stood. "Well. I guess I'll let you two turn in," she said, "since _Mr. Bigshot_ here has so much to do tomorrow." She kissed Harry on the cheek and left the room.

The boys undressed in silence and Ron slid the Deluminator into a drawer, laying it beside the broken locket, before shutting off the light and climbing into bed.

"You sure you're okay with this mate?" asked Harry in the dark. "I mean you and Hermione—"

"Me and her _what_, Harry?"

"Well I mean I thought you'd be…I thought you missed her?"

"Oh so now you admit I do care about her?" Ron bit, remembering their last conversation concerning Hermione. Even in the dark he could practically see Harry cringe.

"Ron what I said…I didn't mean—"

"I know."

"It's just—"

"Let's forget it, alright?"

This time he could practically hear Harry's grin. "It's forgotten."

Ron sighed in relief, grinning a bit himself for what felt like the first time in weeks. At least _that _hadn't changed; they might both act like gits at times, but they would always be Harry and Ron.

"Harry?" Ron asked.

"Yeah Ron?"

"You know…about that promise I had you make..."

"Uh…" Harry said, sounding confused.

"The one about…y'know?" It was too much to even say her name.

"Yeah."

"Well, you can forget it."

Harry was quiet for a moment. "Ron?" he asked, speaking more softly than Ron had ever heard him. "What's happened? What did Hermione write to you?"

Ron couldn't answer. Hearing her name, remembering what he'd seen…he couldn't lie to Harry, but neither could he explain what the problem was.

"Ron?" Harry questioned again. "You still awake mate?"

Ron rolled over, trying to forget his best mate's questions. It was a long time before he finally heard Harry give up and lie back in rest.

_13__July, 1998_

"Well done mate," Harry said, clapping him on the back as the last customer left Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and Ginny flipped the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED.

"It was nothing," Ron said immodestly, unable to suppress a smug grin. Today had been the joke shop's grand reopening and Ron had thought it'd gone rather well. They wouldn't know for sure until they counted the gold in the register—something Ron was looking forward to very much—but there had been a crowd inside the shop all day, bigger than any he'd ever seen back when the twins first opened the place. Apparently coming out on top in a war put people in the mood for a bit of fun frivolity.

Ron paid Patrick and Melanie for their work as he'd promised to once they started getting paying customers again and then gathered a third lump of gold.

"Alright, let's have it," Ginny said, holding her hand out expectantly.

"What do you say Harry? Do you _really_ think she's earned it?"

Harry shot his girlfriend a nervous glance, then looked to Ron, his eyes pleading not to be drawn into the Weasley siblings' games.

Since he'd come back from Australia, both Ginny and Harry had been coming around to help with the shop, going in with Ron first thing nearly every day and staying until Ron packed up to head home. Rather than force him to start interviewing for more help and have to go through the arduous process of training someone new how to make all the twin's various gadgets and concoctions, they'd agreed to do the job themselves, at least until Harry started his Auror training and Ginny had to leave for Hogwarts.

Mercifully, they'd spared him any excessive displays of affection and even managed not to comment on where he might've come up with the idea for Canned Canaries when he invented them one afternoon. It was obvious that they both sensed his distress when it came to Hermione, though they probably misinterpreted his restrained anger and wounded pride for wistful longing, and for that Ron was grateful, almost as grateful as he was for their company.

He'd worked tirelessly after his revelations concerning Hermione and her feelings (or lack thereof rather) toward him, pouring all his attention into the shop to avoid his pain and self-doubt. And Harry and Ginny had been right there with him, going beyond the call of duty to always make him feel included. It was almost like the trio was back together, only with Ginny there in place of Hermione. And while Ron sensed Harry wasn't completely satisfied with leaving Hermione to her own devices in Australia at times, he was clearly committed to putting his faith in Ron's explanation of the matter. At least for the time being.

"Oh just give it to me, already," said Ginny impatiently. "You know you're going to sooner or later." It was true. It had actually been Ron's idea in the first place to pay Ginny and Harry for the time they put in at the shop. It was only fair after all, since Ron was paying himself the same wage he was paying Patrick and Melanie. Harry had of course declined as Ron knew he would, citing that he had more than enough gold already, but Ginny had jumped at the chance to earn some pocket money.

"I don't know…" Ron said, enjoying his height as he held the coins above his head and out of Ginny's reach. Of course, he should've expected what came next. Ginny socked him in the gut and when he bent over in pain she snatched the gold from his hand. "Ha! Told you you'd give it to me eventually."

"Technically that's stealing," Ron wheezed out.

"Oh quit harping on about it. I'm only taking what's coming to me."

"Yeah Ron, don't be so cheap," said Harry, laughing at the red heads.

"Traitor," Ron said when he finally managed to get some air back in his lungs. Harry just gave him a rather insincere look that seemed to say 'What else could I do?'

"So, should we count our haul?" asked Ginny eagerly.

The boys agreed and the three of them quickly went through their first day's take. Ron couldn't help but feel satisfied as he looked at what seemed to him a small fortune as they counted.

Things were off to a decent start. Patrick had turned out to be a better worker than expected, though he was obnoxiously chatty; he'd come to Ron with some question every few minutes and then try to pry war stories out of Ron after he'd given Patrick the answer. Melanie on the other hand was almost completely useless—her clumsiness would've made Tonks look graceful—and Ron couldn't understand how she'd been in Ravenclaw with her seeming inability to remember anything unless she wrote it down. He didn't want to think about how he'd manage once Harry and Ginny left.

"Not bad," Harry said with a grin once they'd finished counting. "Should we grab a drink to celebrate?"

Ron was surprised. He'd been looking forward to a home-cooked meal and a warm bed at the Burrow. "You want to?" he asked uncertainly.

"Oh come on," said Ginny. "We can go to the Leaky Cauldron. We haven't been for ages."

Ron should've suspected something was going on, especially after Harry insisted on a third round of butterbeers. Instead, he was caught completely off-guard when they got home, finding a small, but surprising, congratulations party waiting for them in honor of the shop's reopening.

It felt good, being the guest of honor in his own home. Fleur, who had recently moved back to Shell Cottage with Bill, had come over to cook all his favorite foods and everyone was in good spirits as they played round after round of exploding snap. Even his mum joined them for a bit, giving him a rare smile at one point, though she spent most of the evening merely observing everyone else's fun.

While everyone seemed to want to make it Ron's night, to him it felt like a triumph for the whole family, especially with his mum there. Fleur and Mr. Weasley had been his biggest supporters, both at home and with the shop, constantly encouraging him when he needed it. Percy and Bill had been the ones to make it possible in the first place by getting him access to WWW's Gringotts' account and Bill had even gotten a friend at the Daily Prophet to advertise for the grand reopening. And Harry and Ginny had been right there with him every step of the way. It was the first truly wonderful thing to happen to all of them since the end of the war.

Unfortunately, what should've been a joyous occasion was marred by the absences of two people that really should've been there. The first of course was Hermione. Ron couldn't help but wonder if she'd be as proud of him as his family. Or maybe she wouldn't care at all. Maybe the shop would've just convinced her further how he could never be good enough for her, spending his life on something as silly as gags and jokes, only managing to rebuild his brothers' efforts rather than find success on his own.

The second and ultimately more bothersome absence was George who once again was out, no doubt drinking himself into a coma somewhere. Ron had done his best to leave George alone since being thrown out of his room, and though he understood if George didn't want to come back to the shop, he couldn't help but feel his brother should be there. After all the shop would never have existed without his and Fred's ideas and efforts.

"To Fred," Percy said, lifting his pumpkin juice late in the night.

Almost as one all eyes in the room shifted to Mrs. Weasley. But though she became misty-eyed, she voiced no objections and soon the rest of them were chorusing Percy's toast.

"To Fred _and _George," Ron said lastly before they all drank.

Soon after Ron excused himself for bed. It was nice having the room all to himself again now that Bill and Fleur were gone and Harry had moved into their bedroom, but sometimes Ron wished they were fourteen again, sharing everything willingly with each other. Those had been easier times, better times to his current way of thinking.

Instead of putting on his pajamas, Ron slipped back out of his room and went to Harry's. "Mate, you awake?" he asked.

"What's that?" Harry asked groggily, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.

"I'm going out for a bit. Thought you might want to tag along."

"Sure," said Harry, getting out of bed and throwing on street clothes and Ron couldn't help but smile. Harry was always willing to go anywhere with him these days, no questions asked.

They used the Invisibility Cloak to slip out of the Burrow and made their way across the field. "So where're we going at…twenty to midnight?" Harry asked after checking his watch..

"You'll see," Ron asked holding his hand out to Harry who eyed it warily. "C'mon you poof. No one's looking."

"Shut it," Harry said, finally grabbing Ron's hand before Ron Disapparated the both of them.

"A pub?" Harry asked once they arrived at their destination.

Ron nodded. "Thought we could do some real celebrating." He went inside. He looked around for all of two minutes before pulling Harry back outside. "Never mind. Don't like the look of the place. Let's go somewhere else." And before Harry could protest, he'd taken them both by Side-Along to another town a few miles further north.

This process was repeated nearly two-dozen times. They'd Apparate, take a look inside the pub Ron brought them to and leave again after Ron gave some excuse about 'That bloke at the bar looking shifty' or 'That last place smelled a bit ripe, dinnit?'

Eventually they ended up on the streets of London, where they could walk from pup to pup instead of Apparating, something both their rather full stomachs were thankful for.

"You wanna tell me _what _we're looking for exactly?" Harry complained. "Thought we were just grabbing a drink? All this running around _is _making me a bit thirsty."

"Quit whining," said Ron, grinning. "You weren't doing anything important."

"I was _sleeping_. You of all people should know how important that is."

"We can sleep when we're dead." Ron paused. "Or can we? I mean you'd know better than me," he said. Harry only groaned in exhaustion. "C'mon mate. I've got a good feeling about this next one."

Ron's feeling turned out to be wrong. And he continued to be wrong until they entered lucky pub #38 when Ron's eyes lit up in triumph. Harry followed his eye line. "George?" he said, surprised.

"George," Ron agreed before walking over to his brother seated alone at the bar. "Hey there brother. Fancy seeing you here," he said as he took the stool next to George.

George looked up from the glass of whiskey he was nursing, though it took him nearly twenty seconds to recognize Ron and Harry. _Must be good and pissed by now,_ Ron thought. "Wuzzit you two doin here?" George slurred.

"Same as you George; we're celebrating. Two more of whatever he's having," Ron told the barkeep.

"Wha we cebelrating?"

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' grand reopening. We're back in business Forge."

It took a moment for George to process this, but when he did his eyes darkened, though Ron couldn't be sure if it was the mention of the shop or his old nickname that did it.

"Well alrigh' then," said George, tossing back the rest of his drink.

"Barkeep. Another," said Ron, with audible relief.

Gratefully, the three of them managed to sit together without much animosity. Ron and Harry did most of the talking, though George did manage to add his two pence every now and then, even if he didn't so much as crack a smile as Ron and Harry grew more and more ridiculous with every drink.

Eventually Ron was pissed enough to feel a bit daring and looked over to his brother. "You know…if you wanted me to close the shop I would. I…I know it's not…I wouldn't want you to think I'm trying to take it away from you," Ron said, wanting to make sure George understood. Even if he worked there fifty years, the shop would always belong to the twins. Sensing that he was intruding, Harry excused himself to go to the loo.

After Harry disappeared, the two brothers sat there a moment before George finally shook his head. "Fred wou be happy the shop's open again," said George.

"Yeah he would. But I reckon he'd be happier if you were there, too," said Ron.

"I…can't," George croaked after a moment's hesitation. And Ron understood. George coming back to the shop without Fred would be like…would be like Ron going back to Hogwarts without Hermione.

He wondered if she would come back for school, or if she'd just stay in Australia forever and they'd never see or hear from her again. Did he and Harry really mean so little to her? And what would she say if she did come back? What would _he_ say?

"She's cheating on me," Ron said to no one in particular as he looked down at the bar, though he was sure George had heard him. His throat burned as he said it and he didn't think he could blame it on the bitter ale he was drinking.

"Howzzat?"

He didn't know if it was the fault of the alcohol or the pressure of keeping such a painful secret from everyone, but words started pouring from Ron's mouth in a rush. "A couple weeks back I went to Australia to check on her and I saw her with some other bloke."

This got the biggest reaction Ron had seen in months from George as his eyes widened and he tipped back off his barstool when he tried to appraise Ron and tumbled to the floor.

"M'alrigh, m'alright," George said, picking himself up and holding his hands up to discourage anyone from helping him. Not that anyone had; it was a Monday so the place was practically deserted. "You saw Hermione?" Ron nodded. "With another guy?" Another nod. "Shagging?"

"What? No! What's the matter with you?" Ron said, outraged. He hadn't even considered that possibility, and he certainly wasn't going to entertain it now.

"Sorry. It's just…you said—"

"She was snogging him," Ron stated emphatically.

"Oh," George sobered a moment. "You sure it was Hermione?"

"Yeah," Ron said, taking another drink. "It was her."

"What're you gonna do?"

Ron wondered if George even knew they'd been together before she left, if he'd even noticed during those two weeks when he'd barely left his room. "Nothing," Ron said. What could he do? She didn't want him and had found someone else, someone better.

_Suppose I should be thankful she waited to do it behind my back_, he thought bitterly. Maybe this had been her plan all along. Maybe their kiss during the battle had all been in the heat of the moment, maybe she'd only done it because she thought they wouldn't survive so _why not_? Perhaps she'd regretted it as soon as the dust settled, only staying with him because she didn't want to hurt his feelings or because she was afraid he couldn't cope with rejection so soon after Fred's death.

After all, she hadn't said that she loved him. They'd touched and caressed one-another, but so what? Most of that he'd done with Lavender and he certainly hadn't been in love with her. Maybe Hermione had tried to love him and couldn't. If that was the case, he really couldn't blame her, could he?. Ron would never want Hermione to stay with him out of a sense of obligation, wouldn't want them to stay together if it made her unhappy. And if he ever did see her again he wouldn't be a jealous git, wouldn't stand in the way of her happiness with someone else. He was finished hurting her with his clumsy and misguided attempts to express his feelings.

Of course, actually following through with this plan was another matter entirely and he wasn't sure he was really up for it. And a part of him hoped she'd just stay gone; at least then he wouldn't have to pretend to be happy when he watched her with someone else.

George held up two fingers for another round, and Ron told the barkeep to make it three, remembering Harry. "So thas it?" asked George.

"That's it," Ron agreed. He'd had his shot and somehow he'd blown it. Maybe if he'd gone with her this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe if he'd figured out a way to find her sooner, if he'd gone to Kingsley the minute her letter arrived, Squashface would never have had the chance to enter the picture. Or maybe all he'd need to do was talk to her, try and explain his reasons for staying, for why he was pushing her to leave.

Ron mulled all this over his ale. What he'd done to screw things up, what he should've done instead; it didn't really matter. They'd made it a grand total of twelve days before he'd gone and mucked it all up. Even if he'd done things right this time, it would've only been a matter of time before he did something that convinced her how much more she deserved, how much better she could do.

It really wasn't surprising. In fact, it was almost like he'd expected it, like he'd been waiting for the surreal dream of being with Hermione to come crashing back to reality and dump him on his arse. He'd left her once already. It was only fair for her to leave him. But payback certainly was a bitch.

_Guess I should count myself lucky_, he thought bitterly. _At least I got twelve days with her. More'n I deserve. More than most blokes will ever get the chance for_.

While he obviously wished things could be different, wished there was no Squashface, that he would wake up tomorrow to find Hermione in his arms, he surprisingly he didn't feel spiteful or bitter or even angry anymore. And it also didn't stop him from still loving her.

Ron's thoughts were disturbed by a call of "Weasley" from across the bar. He looked over his shoulder, forgetting that George was sitting next to him to see a girl approaching their seats at the bar, a _very_ pretty girl in fact. Actually she seemed familiar, which was strange considering this was a Muggle pub. Come to think of it how did she know his name?

"I thought that was you George Weasley," she said, ignoring Ron to peak at George's face slumped over the bar.

"Verity," said George.

_That's right,_ Ron said, remembering her from the shop. So she was a witch. _Not every day you see a witch dressed in such…provocative Muggle clothing _and he found himself peaking down her low-cut top as she squeezed between him and George, his mouth suddenly rather moist.

"Well aren't you a right mess," Verity said, looking her former employer up and down. Ron opened his mouth to tell her off; Fred was _gone _and George had the right to look liked he'd just been hit with a batch of Stinksap from a Mimbulus Mimbletonia if he wanted (though Ron strongly hoped George would remember the existence of personal hygiene before things got that bad). But Verity turned on him next before he could respond. "And you're almost as bad. Don't you Weasleys know what a razor's for Percy?" She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, which made her look rather adorable Ron thought. "Or a bath for that matter,"

Immediately Ron felt his angry retort wither in his throat and he doubled over in laughter.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, finally back from the loo.

"She…thinks…I'm…Percy," Ron spat out between laughs. George scowled and Harry just blinked.

"Err, yeah," he said, smiling slightly, though he looked at Ron a bit worriedly as he continued to laugh manically. "That's a good one mate."

Verity was indignant. "Well how am I supposed to-Merlin's sagging tits! You're Harry Potter."

"Am I?" asked Harry a bit drunkenly. "If you say so."

"So that makes you…Ron, right?" she asked.

"Well at least she got it on the second try," said Ron weakly to Harry.

"I'm standing right here," Verity huffed, refusing to be ignored.

Ron's brain was a bit fuzzy and he took a long time to look her up and down. "Yes. You are."

A brief flicker of..._something_—embarrassment perhaps—passed over Verity's face before she smiled and turned to the bartener. "Allen, give me whatever the boys are drinking. And better bring another round for the idiots too. Put it on my tab. Oi! Leslie," Verity shouted across the bar to a raven-haired girl sitting with two muscle-y looking blokes. "I'm gonna talk to this lot for a mo'. You going to be alright?"

Leslie didn't seem to mind being left in the company of her two male companions in the slightest and Ron turned back to the bar and their new round of drinks waiting.

"So which of you fellas are going to give up his stool so I can sit next to old Georgie here?" Verity asked.

"Here. Take mine," Ron said, suddenly leaping up from his seat. Harry quirked an eyebrow at him as if to ask 'What was that?' Ron only shrugged. _Like I even know._

Verity apparently found his behavior odd as well. "Settle down there tiger," she said, taking the seat. Ears slightly pink, Ron walked to George's left.

"Budge up," he told Harry.

Harry looked up and down the otherwise empty bar. "You're joking right? Just sit anywhere."

Ron considered taking the seat to Harry's left but feared being left out of the conversation, so he took the seat to Verity's right instead, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers.

"You do have a brother named Percy, right," Verity asked as he sat down. "Or did I just make that up?"

"Nah. He's our older brother. Can't remember anyone ever confusing us before though. Me and him are like night and day."

"Well I hope I didn't offend him. Make sure to apologize for me when you see him."

Ron grinned. He was starting to like Verity very much. "Sure. No problem."

"I'm sorry," said Verity, sincere this time. "Fred and George always said Percy was the tall one."

Ron waved her off. "I passed him up years ago. Only found out recently though. The prat was on the outs with the family for a bit."

"Yes, I remember them mentioning that." She looked him up and down. "How tall are you?"

"Six-three," Ron said proudly.

"Ooh. Big boy," she said, winking. Ron's face turned scarlet and she laughed before turning to George.

"So boss, what've you been up to?"

"Nothing," George said, taking a drink without looking at her. Ron and Harry exchanged an awkward glance behind the backs of the others.

"Well good on you. I always said you worked too hard. Didn't I always say that?"

"No."

"Well I meant to. No, wait. That was _me _working my arse off for you two slave drivers."

Every time the subject touched on Fred for a moment, Ron felt himself cringe. He could only hope she didn't upset George. Ron felt he'd pushed him far enough already tonight with the news about the shop. Thankfully she turned her attention to Harry and Ron. "And what about you two? What do war heroes do once the war's been won?"

"Well Harry here's gonna be an Auror. Lives for danger, this one. Dies for it too come to think of it."

"For the moment," Harry said, interrupting, clearly not amused while Verity looked confused by Ron's quip, "we're both in the joke shop business."

"Yeah we're a couple of enter-enter-enterpeeners," Ron said, struggling with the Muggle word.

"You don't say? I was wondering what nutter reopened that place. I figured George was back at it, but I guess you two fit the bill."

They all laughed. "And what're you doing these days?" asked Harry.

"Same as George: taking a well-earned holiday. But I've been starting to get a bit antsy lately, need to get my hands dirty again. How'd the big reopening go?"

"Great," said Harry.

"Absolutely mad," said Ron. "You should see the rest of the staff. It's like trying to coach a Qudditch team that's two Chasers short of a full squad."

"Is that an invitation?" asked Verity coyly. "Or should I say job offer?"

Ron hadn't meant to suggest anything of the sort, but he saw Harry nodding fervently over George's shoulder; clearly he shared Ron's opinion of Melanie.

"You'd want to come back?" Ron asked. "I mean we'd love the help, but I dunno if you remember how mental that place is. And this was just the first day."

Verity's eyes flashed dangerous. "I like things a bit mental. And I reckon the same goes for the two of you," she said wryly.

Ron had the feeling that Verity wasn't a witch to be underestimated. He caught Harry's eye and they both grinned. "You don't know the half of it. Allen, was it? Four more," he called to the bartender before looking back to Verity. "Now, let's talk terms of contract."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This chapter's title comes from the song "Rid of Me" by PJ Harvey off her album _Rid of Me_.

Well there you have it, our last look at Ron before we first see him in chapter 1 when Kinglsey comes a callin' for him and Harry. And as you might've guessed, Elana is the other witch mentioned way back in chapter 9 who also helped out Ron. Is there anything else connecting these two women? You'll have to keep reading to find out.

Anyway, this chapter closes what I consider to be the 'second act' of this fic. The first ten were all about confusing and showing how happy Ron and Hermione were before she left. The next ten have separated them even more in the present while giving you most (but not all) of the answers behind how things got so messed up between them in the first place. The last ten still to come are all about the resolution, and meant to show not only the roots of how things could get so bad, but how it's still possible that despite everything, there's still hope.

I'm really excited to see what you guys think of what I still have in store. I'm not sure if I'm more excited for the 'present' story line or the last few flashback chapters I have planned. But I will say my personal favorite chapter (which should be ch. 24) is still on the way. I wrote most of it ages ago and have slowly been tweaking it here and there to keep it consistent with everything else. It's totally self-indulgent and maybe even a little unnecessary, but I don't care. I love it and I hope you guys will too.


	22. CH21: The Biggest Joke

**A/N: **Hmm don't really have anything to say for once. Though this story did finally break the 100 alert mark, which is pretty cool. So thanks you guys.

This chapter is dedicated to **King's Ransom **for the lovely little chat we had after the last chapter.

And thanks to my beta **superfan24 **for doing a wonderful job with this chapter like always despite the craziness in her own life.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21: The Biggest Joke<strong>

_1 March, 1999_

Ron woke up and looked at the watch on his bedside table. He'd been nineteen for exactly six hours and twenty-three minutes but he didn't feel any different than when he'd woken up the previous morning.

Not that he'd really expected to feel different. After a wizard's seventeenth birthday there really wasn't much to look forward to. Last year's really hadn't been anything special since they'd still been out looking for Horcruxes: Harry had still been reeling from what he'd learned about Dumbledore in Skeeter's book and was totally obsessed with the Hallows, and Hermione had only just forgiven him for leaving so their relationship had still been on rocky ground. He supposed next year would be something; at least he wouldn't be a teenager anymore. And he could start voting for elected officials like the Wizengamot and Minister of Magic at twenty-one, though he didn't necessarily find that prospect particularly exciting. But nineteen didn't mean anything, except to remind him that he was another year older.

He didn't know what to make of the last year, really. Riddle had been defeated and they'd won the war, but he'd lost Fred, along with Dobby, Lupin and Tonks. And in a way he'd lost George and his mum as well. He'd finally gotten together with Hermione, but in the end he'd lost her, too. _All in all, not really a great year_, he thought, and he didn't hold much hope for the next one either.

The door to his room opened and Harry walked in. "Hey mate, happy birthday," he said, tossing Ron a small present.

"Cheers," Ron said as it landed on the foot of his bed. He didn't expect much in the way of presents anymore; after seventeen his family didn't really celebrate birthdays, since they couldn't really afford to. And all his brothers had already moved out and gotten jobs at this point in their lives. Meanwhile, here he was, still living at the Burrow. "You're up early," he said as Harry took a seat.

"Gotta head in to work. Dawlish thinks we have a new lead on the Lestranges and wants every Auror not working a case already to check it out. He's got me and Neville teamed up with that Auror who's been teaching at Hogwarts again."

"How is Neville?" Ron asked, remembering what Luna had said at the Ball.

"Not sure," Harry said honestly. "Doesn't say much these days, just works like a loon. Spends more time in the Auror Office than I do."

Five years ago, if someone had told Ron that he'd be jealous of Neville Longbottom, he would've laughed in their face. But now he couldn't help wishing that it was him going out on missions with Harry, working beside his best mate every day like he'd dreamed of ever since fourth year. Growing apart and losing touch with Harry and Hermione had been something Ron had always been afraid of back in school. Both of them were so brilliant, though in totally different ways. He'd always known they'd been meant to do big things. After last year, after he'd left them and come back and been miraculously forgiven he'd been sure that nothing would ever separate the three of them; he'd felt like he'd finally earned the right to stand next to them as their friend.

But as it turned out that hadn't mattered. He'd ended up at the shop and now he and Harry were both so busy they rarely saw one-another these days. Often Harry's assignments kept him away from the Burrow for days at a time, especially since they'd started tracking the Lestrange brothers. And even when Harry did make it home for dinner, Ron was so busy trying to get the new shop ready that they barely had the chance to say hello to each other in passing. Even on the rare nights they were both home, they were usually so relieved to have a breather that they barely had the energy to play a game of chess or go for a fly.

And of course, he and Hermione were even worse. He'd told her he wanted to try and be friends again, but that was easier said than done, especially with her still at Hogwarts. And who knew where she'd end up after she finished. He didn't even know what career she was considering; though he had a good idea 'joke shop clerk' wasn't one of her top prospects.

Something in his expression must've revealed his thoughts. "Speaking of Neville, how are you and Hermione?"

"'Speaking of Neville'…nice segue mate," Ron snorted.

Harry shrugged. "Nice vocabulary. 'Segue.' What girl are you trying to impress?"

"Prat," Ron mumbled, though both boys grinned. Sometimes Ron wished he could find a girl like Harry. No-one seemed to read him better, was able to understand him better than Harry. Other than the whole mess with Hermione and the Triwizard Tournament, they'd never had a misunderstanding. And even those hadn't really been misunderstandings. He'd just been hurt, thinking that Harry hadn't wanted to include him when he'd entered the tournament. And he'd never _really _thought Harry fancied their other best mate; it had just been Hermione's feelings he'd been unsure of, and Harry had been the innocent bystander who'd taken the brunt of Ron's anger and frustration.

"Seriously though, you never told me how Valentine's Day went. I'm guessing it wasn't pretty."

"Try disaster. Makes your date with Cho fifth year look like a dream-date by comparison," he said, unable to resist the chance to remind Harry. ""Guess I have you to thank for that since it was your cloak that let her and Ginny sneak out."

"Hey, I just gave the cloak to Ginny. It was out of my hands after that," Harry said, raising his hands defensively.

"You're a terrible liar, mate."

"Failed my last Occlumency test actually," Harry said and they both laughed again. "You guys looked alright at the match last week though, at least until after Ginny got hurt."

He was fishing, and Ron knew Harry well enough that this wasn't something he was just going to let go even if he wasn't going to come right out and speak his mind. "I told her I just wanted to be friends," Ron said very quickly, as if he hoped by talking fast Harry wouldn't catch what he'd said.

Harry's eyes widened, obviously having heard Ron perfectly. "Is that even possible with you two?"

Ron let out a sickening laugh. He'd been wondering the same thing. "Dunno."

"Did you mean it?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno. I've never understood you two. But I thought you would've worked things out by now. I mean it's been _months_."

"This isn't really something we can just forget about and move on. Well, _I _can't. I'm sure she'd like to."

"Did you ever read those letters she sent you?"

"Yeah," Ron said, trying to sound nonchalant. He _had_, finally, after their talk on Valentine's Day. And they'd done a much better job of clearing things up than what she'd told him in-person. They'd confirmed some of the things Hermione had told him in the Shrieking Shack, but reading about how much she'd missed him while knowing what's she'd been doing with Nathan was bittersweet. It didn't really changed anything: one kiss or one-thousand, drunken shag or not, it didn't really matter, right? In fact, they'd only served to confirm his theory that Hermione would never be completely satisfied with him and strengthened his resolve never to get involved with her again.

He thought it would make him feel better, but it actually just made things a bit worse. While she'd admitted to fancying the tosser, it was clear that he hadn't been anything more than a rebound, someone she'd found comfort in the same way he had with Lavender. Nathan wasn't the guy of her dreams whom she'd planned to marry and have a million curly-haired children with very toothy grins with or anything. No, she'd tossed aside what she and Ron had for a short little fling. And if he believed her letter, most of it had been miserable for her anyway.

_Serves her right_, he thought halfheartedly. Actually he supposed it had helped in some ways. After reading the letter he'd been more understanding of her mindset while in Australia, or at least better than she could've expected; she'd been rejected, or thought she had. And then a guy came along and swept her away by reminding her of how great she was and how much more she deserved than a prat of a boyfriend who didn't keep his promises and how easily she'd probably been taken in by it all. That's what had happened with him and Lavender, after all. He hadn't known Hermione would be hurt by his actions, had never thought that she'd _care_, at least not until he'd found her crying on Harry's shoulder in that empty classroom. If he looked at things from her perspective, maybe she really had believed he wouldn't be hurt by what she'd done in Australia either.

What he still _didn't_ understand after reading them was why she'd wanted to start things up with him again after she came back, let alone how she thought things with them could ever work out with her keeping this huge secret. And it didn't help that reading what she'd written about Nathan had only served to paint an even clearer of the two of them together in his mind, a vision of naked, sweaty limbs locked in an embrace of sickening passion and desire. It was enough to make him throw up…as well as put a few more dents in his bedroom's walls and break a few bones.

"Anything I should know?"

Ron looked at Harry, the sickening thoughts vanishing as he was pulled back to the present. A giant part of him wanted to tell his best mate the whole story. It was eating him up inside to walk around with such a weight on his soul, almost like wearing the bloody locket all over again. Ginny and Hermione were obviously friends again if she'd given Hermione the cloak and it would be nice to have someone in _his _camp for once.

But this wasn't really about sides. He didn't want battle lines drawn up, with his friends and family having to choose between the two of them. And even if he had, he wasn't sure if they'd pick his side anyway. He wasn't _completely _blameless after all.

"Nah, it's fine," he said, trying to sound convincing. "We'll work it out. Just need a bit more time is all."

Harry watched him for a moment then nodded. "Well, you going to open it before I leave?" he asked, nodding to the present.

Ron picked it up and ripped open the wrappings to find a small box inside. "What's this?" Ron asked, opening it and finding a small, silver key inside.

"A basilisk egg," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "What's it look like? It's a key."

"Yeah but to what? What's it open?"

"Well, nothing actually. It symbolic more than anything."

"Oh, great present Harry. One for the ages. No, really, I don't think I can even accept this," he said sarcastically.

"Do you want me to explain or not?" said Harry smugly.

"Fine," said Ron, crossing his arms and pouting. "So what's the deal with this symbolic key?"

"Well I was…sorta…thinking I might move out." Harry smiled sheepishly.

"What?" Ron exclaimed, caught completely off-guard.

"I mean I love it here, really," Harry said, looking around Ron's room with a rather dreamy expression on his face that made Ron want to laugh. "But I can't impose on your family forever, can I?"

"Sure you can," said Ron. "Mum and Dad don't mind. They'd probably kick me out before you."

"Yeah, but I don't want to. And I shouldn't. I mean it's not like I….can't afford it," he said awkwardly, knowing gold would probably always be a touchy subject between the two friends. Ron nodded.

"So you've got yourself a place then?"

"No, not yet. I haven't really had time to start looking or anything. I haven't told anyone else yet, not even Ginny."

It irked Ron a bit that Harry _might've _told Ginny before him, but he knew that was just the way things were now. He was the best mate and Ginny was the girlfriend, and he was just going to have to accept that sometimes she came first, things Harry could tell her that he couldn't tell him. He understood; after all he wasn't telling Harry the whole story with Hermione, now was he?

"Well, uh, thanks, I guess. So's this supposed to mean I can come over and raid your ice box any time I want? Or do you just want me to come over and water your plants when you go on holiday?" he said laughing.

"Actually I was sort of hoping you'd want to live with me." For the second time Ron's mouth fell open in astonishment. Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I just feel like we haven't…spent a lot of time…together lately. So I thought maybe…if you wanted to…."

"Right."

"Yeah."

Ron looked down at the key in his hands, wishing he could get the dust out of his eye. "Harry, I—"

"You can think about it. Like I said, I haven't even started looking. And I know with your mum and all…it's still not really a good time right now. But George is starting to get out a bit more. And I just…I thought…."

"Sure mate," Ron said, looking up at Harry and noticed his eyes were a tad shiny as well in the soft light.

"Right. Well I should probably go," he said, standing.

"You want a bite before you go? I could fix you something?" Ron hurried to offer, clambering out of bed.

Harry shook his head. "I'll be alright."

"Sure. Hey Harry?" Harry turned. "Thanks."

They exchanged half-smiles and went their separate ways.

_13 March, 1999_

"Oi, out of the way you lot!" Ron shouted to a bunch of third years, hoisting a crate of Canned Canaries over their heads and wishing he'd had the sense to just levitate it rather than try and carry the thing. It was the new shop's second day open and it was a madhouse. The store was packed wall-to-wall with third, fourth and fifth years who'd never gotten the chance to visit Hogsmeade back when Zonko's had been in business and seemed to be trying to buy up the entire store.

It wasn't really a surprise: there were only so many times you could visit the Three Broomsticks or Honeydukes or the Shrieking Shack, so a new shop opening was bound to be a big deal for the students. It was something he'd counted on actually and he was just thankful they'd managed to get everything ready in time, but his and Verity's overtime had paid off in the end.

Verity had actually had the idea to open the shop the day _before _the Hogsmeade visit. It had given locals who lived in the village the chance to check out the store when they might've been put off by having to deal with hoards of rambunctious Hogwarts' students who'd spent the last two months cooped up during winter. And it had turned out to be a nice way to ease into things and prepare for the _real_ test today.

Harry had even requested the day off to come and help, which Ron was truly grateful for, even if he suspected a bit of an ulterior motive. After all, Ginny would be around at some point.

"Ow," exclaimed a fourth year Hufflepuff girl as Ron accidentally knocked into her.

"Sorry," Ron said, setting the crate down and helping her up. _Blimey, they have to be getting shorter, _he thought as the girl barely cleared his waist. _There's no way we were ever such midgets. _The girl blushed, embarrassed as he released her hand and quickly ran off. "Barmy kid," Ron muttered to himself as he started unpacking the crate.

The door chimed and he felt his eyes drawn to it as they'd been all morning. But unlike all the other times so far, it _really_ was her walking through the door.

_Hermione._

Of course he'd known she'd come by at some point. He just didn't know if he wanted her to or not. He wasn't sure if things between them would be friendly or if he needed to have a Shield Charm ready in case of another canary attack.

Ron watched her look around and he ducked to escape her notice before she spotted Harry and went over to talk to him. Using some shelves for cover, he moved closer to eavesdrop on their conversation. Conveniently, Hermione was practically shouting to be heard over the clamoring customers running around the store.

"Ginny's coming by later. She just had to drop a letter off at the post office," Hermione explained after they'd finished embracing. "I'm going to have my hands full with all the trouble this lot is going to cause, aren't I?"

Harry grinned. "Well you probably have it too easy reviewing for N.E.W.T.s this year anyway, so dealing with a little mischief might help make things a bit more challenging for you. I mean it's not like you have me and Ron around to distract you: no-one to try and keep alive or mysteries to solve or secret defense leagues to run."

"I never thought I'd miss it, but…" Hermione broke off before composing herself. "This really is brilliant. I'm really glad it was ready in-time for the Hogsmeade visit."

"Ron's been working really hard," Harry explained. "But it's paid off as you can see."

"Is he around?" Hermione asked, lowering her voice so that Ron had to strain to hear, not daring to move any closer.

"Should be here somewhere," Harry said as Hermione looked around. "Are you two okay?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"Ron hasn't told you?" Harry shook his head. "Or Ginny?"

"Believe it or not, Ginny doesn't tell me _everything _you two talk about," he said wryly.  
>"I know, I just thought that maybe…" She turned back to Harry. "Ron's not exactly happy with me right now."<p>

"Should he be?" Harry asked, sounding torn between his discomfort and concern.

"No, he shouldn't. I just…"

Ron felt a tap on his shoulder. "How much is this?" a Slytherin sixth year asked, holding up a bag of Instant Darkness Powder.

Ron cringed as he stood up, realizing that Harry and Hermione had both turned in the direction of the voice so close to them. "One Galleon, seven Sickles," he barked, angry the little snake had gotten him caught.

The boy turned around and left quickly at Ron's angry expression and Ron sighed before turning to his friends.

"Uh, hey," he said lamely, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ron," Hermione said, sounding flustered.

"What were you doing back there?" Harry asked, half amused, half pityingly.

"Inventory," Ron lied. "Just checking to make sure we weren't out of the Snackboxes."

"Right," said Harry. "Well, I'll just…"

"Why don't you go find Ginny?" Hermione offered. "Take her for a coffee or something?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "And bring some back for the rest of us. We'll probably need it."

"Sure," said Harry, not moving, clearly unsure of how he felt about being dismissed like this, and wondering if it was a good idea to leave his two friends alone again.

"You need some gold?" Ron asked, digging in his pockets.

"I've got some," Harry said. "Well…I'll see you later, Hermione?"

She nodded and offered him a forced smile.

"Ron can we talk?" she asked, turning to him the minute Harry was gone.

Ron panicked. "Uh, it's kinda swamped in here."

"Yes I can see. And I don't want to take you away from your important customers. I promise it'll only be a minute."

She sounded strange and he couldn't tell if she was being sincere or if she was mocking him. But he relented and took her back to the office, hoping Eddie, the bloke he'd hired to help out with the new shop, was up to handling things alone for a few minutes.

"Where's Verity?" Hermione asked sharply the moment Ron shut the door, giving them some privacy. "I didn't see her out there."

"At the Diagon Alley shop. She never listens to me anyway, and I thought she'd enjoy being in-charge of the place for once."

Hermione looked surprised. "Oh, I thought you'd want her around."

"Huh?" Ron asked, hearing the venom in her voice and deciding it was best to act thick.

"Well I just got the impression she is one of your best employees, so I _assumed_ you'd want her by your side to make things went smoothly today. I mean you trust her and she's _obviously_ dedicated enough to put in overtime during _romantic holidays_." Her eyes were narrowed, almost challenging him. "Unless there's some _other_ reason for it."

"Nope, that's it," he lied, hating the fact that Hermione could read him as easily as one of her books.

She looked at him, disbelief apparent in her face. "So she wasn't the girl you were talking about?"

"What girl?" Ron asked, utterly failing to sound innocent.

"The one you…_fancy_," she said, struggling to get her mouth around the word.

"She has a boyfriend," Ron explained with relief.

She looked at him for a moment. "So did I."

"I'm not the type of person to muck up something like that. And I don't think she is either."

"But _I_ am," Hermione said, voicing the implication in Ron's words. "You haven't denied it's her you were thinking of."

"Look—"

"It's fine," she said, snappishly before looking regretful. "Sorry. I mean obviously I don't have the right…I just wish…" She composed herself again. "I just came to tell you how wonderful the shop looks. Fred would be really proud of you."

"Thanks," Ron said, confused by her change in subject. But apparently that wasn't all.

"And I wanted you to know that I'm not going to let her win."

"Huh?"

Hermione straightened up, doing her best to appear strong though it was so obvious to Ron she was so fragile that a strong gust of wind could break her façade. "You were right. All this time, we've never gotten things right. Even when we were together we…_I_ found a way to muck it up. But there's always been one of us trying to fight for it, fight for _us_. And since you've made it clear you're giving up, it's my turn to be the one to try and hold on to what I know we should be. Because even if you do…_fancy _Verity, or whoever, I can tell you it's not going to work."

_Who does she think she is? _Ron thought indignantly, though he couldn't help but feel himself heating up when he saw the fiery resolve in her eyes, silently cursing his body for betraying him. "You're sure, are you?" Ron said daringly.

She nodded. "Yes. It's never been people like Krum or McLaggen or Lavender or Nathan or Verity getting in the way of us. They have _nothing_ to do with us. Well, I suppose McLaggen did," Hermione clarified, looking thoughtful, "since I just wanted to make you jealous. But not the others. I didn't want them because I thought you weren't good enough or because I thought I could do better. I did it because I'm an idiot. Why did _I_ need to wait for _you_ to ask me to the Yule Ball? I could've asked you instead, instead of getting upset when you didn't notice me. Or I could've accepted your terrible offer when you finally did get around to asking me instead of punishing you and going with Viktor just to prove a point, to show you that I deserved more than a pity invite, to be more than a second thought or your last resort. And I could've talked to you or written to you when I was in Australia instead of finding someone else to make me feel better. I mean I should've known it would _never _work. You're the one who makes me miserable and you're the only one who can make it better.

"And you're the same. With Lavender or Verity or whoever. You can act like you're over _this_, but then how else do you explain all these months? How do you explain what happened between us the night of the ball, when you kissed my cheek that day by the lake?" As she spoke, she touched her cheek in the exact spot he'd kissed all those months ago.

"We're idiots, _both_ of us. I never needed Viktor or Nathan to help me realize you're the one I want. I knew that before I ever met either of them. I just let myself get confused, I let myself doubt: you, me… _us_." She bit her lip and Ron knew she was trying to hold back tears as she continued. "I'm just so used to having all the answers. And you have always been there, believing in me, trusting me. You had me convinced sometimes that I really did know everything.

"But you're the one thing I've never been able to understand, Ron. And I've tried so hard. Whether your actions made me want to pull my hair out or snog you senseless, it was something inexplicable. The problem was I _treated_ you like some problem where the answer kept eluding me. But you were never the problem; you're the answer, you always have been and I've just been too thick to notice. Or maybe I did and just didn't understand what that meant."

"Ever since I was little I wanted to be perfect. I've tried to be perfect for so long I can't even remember where or how it first started. But I can remember when I stopped wanting to be that perfect girl and started wanting to be the perfect girl for you."

She blushed again and Ron looked at her skeptically, and she quickly amended her statement. "I mean, I still wanted to do well, but at some point your opinion became the one that mattered most, even more than my own. _That's _how I know I love you, and how I know that _this_," she waved her fingers back and forth between them, "isn't over just because _you_ say it is. If there's one thing I learned from this mess, it's that you can't just will-away your feelings. They don't disappear because you're angry or hurt or because the boy you love can be so thick he makes you want to pull your hair out."

She smiled at him, but Ron was so stunned by her words and the lips that issued them that he failed to smile back. "So if you want another turn to be the idiot, that's fine. I'll hate myself when I see it or hear about it and I'll try to hate you for putting me through it again. But I'll love you a thousand times more than I could _ever_ hate you. And I think deep down you feel the same. You said so yourself: you said you can't hate me, even though you want to and we both know I deserve it. And I'm not going to let you forget that. So when you're finished working through whatever you need to do and you take me back, I can say 'I told you so' and you can call me a know-it-all and we can bicker and laugh and kiss and be the way we're meant to."

Ron noticed they'd somehow moved closer while she'd spoken, but he hadn't been aware of it. If he reached out he could touch her face, pull her to him and bicker and laugh and kiss right then and there. And when she leaned in he thought she really was going to do just that, and he knew he wouldn't protest, much as felt like he should. But she only pecked his cheek before taking a step back and swiping away a few stray tears that had somehow managed to escape her eyes.

Hermione sniffed. "Well, that's all. I'll let you get back to work. I need to get back anyway." She opened the door to the office before turning back to look at him one last time. "Oh. And happy birthday, Ron."

Then she left, leaving Ron to watch her go, mouth gaping, wondering if that really was the same girl from a month ago. _And I thought Harry's present was a good one, _he thought, touching his cheek softly, his skin still burning where her lips had touched him.

…

Ron would never know for sure how he managed to make it through the rest of the day after that. He was so distracted he barely even noticed when Harry returned with Ginny in-tow and at the register he completely forgot to charge one Hufflepuff for the biting earrings he'd purchased for his sister. He couldn't help it; he was consumed with thoughts of Hermione. He'd imagined their first encounter since the Quidditch match playing out a hundred different ways, but Hermione had still managed to find a way to surprise him and he had no idea what to make of her. She'd just seemed so confident, so sure of what she was saying that for a moment she'd almost had him convinced that he should forget everything that had gone wrong between them.

He still wasn't sure why he'd even mentioned anything about him fancying another girl in the first place. Of course Verity _had _been the girl he'd had in mind when he said it. Hermione's hostility toward his attractive female coworker on Valentine's Day _had_ been rather obvious, and he'd guessed it stemmed from more than her little joke about house-elves. And Verity really was someone he could see himself with. She was cool, she was fun, had a wicked sense of humor, and was rather clever in her own way. They got on great and he loved that she didn't take shite from anyone, himself included. She even liked Quidditch, though she wasn't a Cannons fan. _But hey, no one's perfect, _Ron admitted.

And she was drop-dead sexy. She had a face that made men double-take as she passed and a figure that looked good whether she wore a low-cut top made for clubbing or the plain starched Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes uniform. If she had a few drops of Veela blood in her she could probably even give Fleur a run for her gold.

Things had been a bit awkward between them after their near-kiss at Percy's engagement party, but as time passed without either of them mentioning it things went back to normal. Looking back, he realized the tension between them had dissipated after the New Year's Ball. The Prophet had done a huge write-up about the Order of Merlin ceremony and had made a great fuss about the guests of honor—himself, Harry and Hermione—and whom they'd taken as their dates. The press had made a fuss over Harry and Ginny's supposedly sudden reconciliation and the gossip columns had been busy ever since trying to predict how long their rekindled romance would last. Ron almost wished he could find a way to place a bet on it or something; he reckoned he could make a bundle with most of the public giving them a few months tops. Of course he'd never be able to collect considering 'forever' was a long ways off.

But the talk of Harry and Ginny had been nothing compared to him and Hermione. Everyone was speculating on whether they'd only gone as friends or something more, if the Chosen One had only started seeing Ginny again to get back at his best mate for stealing his girl, if the trio's friendship would be torn apart by romance, and how tragic it was that the good-hearted but naïve Ron Weasley had allowed such a fickle mistress as Miss Granger sink her claws into him. Thankfully the press had finally moved on to other more-pressing gossip since neither couple had appeared in public since.

Ron knew a part of the reason he felt drawn to Verity was the fact that she wasn't tied to memories of his past. She'd known the twins, but they never talked about Fred or George, which Ron found a bit peculiar but was ultimately grateful for. She didn't remind him of Harry or Hermione or their times together—good or bad. She was his friend, _just his_, and it had been a long time since he'd had someone all to himself. Since…well, since before Hermione came along and he'd had to start sharing Harry. Of course, Verity _did_ have a boyfriend, but strangely enough, he never seemed to be around much, especially lately, though she mentioned him often enough that Ron knew they were still together.

And yet there were times that Ron was almost sure she fancied him, at least a little, as if she was only waiting to see if he did something about it.

He sighed. Yes, he truly believed he could end up with someone like her and be perfectly happy. The question was, would that happy ending even be _possible_ in a world where he'd already met Hermione Granger?

Things were finally slowing down; it seemed like most Hogwarts students had been through the shop at least twice already and it was nearly time for them to head back inside for supper. So he was a bit surprised to hear the bell on the shop door ring. He looked up, half hoping it'd be Hermione back for more even as his head warned him what a disaster that would be. But the person standing in the door way was even more surprising and, unbelievably, even more exciting.

"George," Ron said, the name coming out like a gasp as he felt the wind rush out of him. He didn't say anything else, afraid of spooking his brother and scaring him off with unwanted questions or comments.

George looked around uncertainly, as if he didn't really think he should be there before looking to Ron. "I went by the shop and… Verity said you'd be here."

Ron felt panic rise inside him. "Are you alright? Is everything okay at home? Is it Mum?"

George didn't answer, merely looking down at his shoes and kicking at the floor. Even after everything it was still strange for Ron to see him like this, without his old flare and slight swagger and enough life inside him to draw the whole world's attention.

"George, what's wrong?" Ron asked again.

"I just wanted to see how things were going with the shop," he admitted, not meeting Ron's eyes.

"What?" Ron asked. George had shown absolutely zero interest in the joke shop since it reopened, ignoring all of Ron's gentle requests to come see its progress, maybe even pass judgment on the new products he'd developed. It'd be worth it to have George take the mickey out of him if it meant he was back to being the old, fun-loving George.

"If you're busy, I can come back some other…don't want to be in the way."

"No!" shouted Ron, desperate to keep George there longer. "I mean it's your shop, so how could you be in the way?"

"I didn't even know about this place."

Ron looked guilty. He had purposely not told George about it. Besides his brother's obvious indifference, he'd worried it might upset George. Getting the shop up and running again had been one thing; Ron had merely been putting things back to the way they were supposed to be. But the Hogsmeade branch was different; he'd done it without Fred or George, accomplished something they'd wanted to do _together _and would never have the chance to. And despite Hermione's reassurance that Fred would be proud of him, he doubted George would feel the same.

"Sorry I didn't tell you. I…I didn't use any of the shop's gold. I took the loan out in my name, so if you don't like it I can change the name. I mean if you don't want it tied to your store—"

"No!" George said adamantly, startling Ron. "It's fine. It's…it's brilliant, Ron." The tentative smile that came over George's face was enough to make Ron grin from ear-to-ear. He'd been happy to get a laugh out of George at the Ball, and had been pleased to see him continue on the path to recovery, but this was more than he could've hoped for. George still continued to go out drinking most nights, but he usually returned at a decent hour, or at least before dawn. And had started taking his meals with the rest of the family, but his laugh was still absent at all times. Their dad had advised everyone to just go about things as normal and let George continue to work things out at his own pace. Apparently, that had been sound advice.

"Would you like a tour?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I think I would," George said, his tight smile relaxing, but not disappearing from his face.

_1 April, 1999_

Ron felt himself being shaken roughly, pulling him out of a rather wonderful dream about Hermione—a Hermione with a tail to be exact, like she'd had back in second year. And she'd been showing him just what it could do when he felt someone slap his face lightly.

"Ow! Gerroff me," he cried, batting the hand away.

"Shhh. You'll wake the whole house if you're not quiet little brother."

"George?" Ron asked, recognizing the voice.

"Got it in one. I'm impressed. You must be taking powdered dragon claw or something. Strange, I always thought that was a load of dung but I guess there's some truth to it."

Ron groaned. It was _far _too early for George's ribbing.

Over the last three weeks George's attitude had changed remarkably. Before, he'd been making steady progress since the ball. But since his visit to the shop, George was acting like a completely new person. Or rather, like an old one—himself to be precise. He'd actually seemed quite impressed with the place, even getting quite a kick out of the Canned Canaries once Ron explained how he'd come up with the idea. And he'd started coming in to the shop a few days every week. He never stayed long, and rarely did any real work, as if he was afraid messing about with the jokes would recall painful memories of Fred, but he was smiling and laughing again, even making jokes like this on occasion when he was in a particularly good mood. Ron had no idea what had caused this turnabout, but he wasn't one to look a gift-thestral in the mouth, so he'd accepted the new George without question, secretly praying he was back for good.

"Now, now. No going back to sleep ickle Ronniekins. You can sleep when you're dead. We have important business."

Ron opened his eyes again, giving up on sleep, at least for the time being, and smiled. George's comment was so much like his own to Harry all those months ago, back when Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had reopened.

"Here," said George, throwing some clothes at Ron which landed on his head. "Now hurry up. No dawdling," he said, doing his well-practiced imitation of their mum.

"Where are we going?" Ron said, trying to pull his jeans on without standing up.

"And ruin the surprise? Come one. I thought you were supposed to be the adventurous one in the family"

"That's Charlie," Ron said. "Dragons and all, remember?"

"Seems I recall you having a run-in with a dragon or two yourself, little brother. And three-headed dogs and basilisks and Dementors and Merlin knows what else. Oh, and I think some giant spiders, too, right?"

"Fine, fine," Ron grumbled, shuddering at the memory of his trip into Aragog's lair, happily remembering the vile thing was now dead.

Fifteen minutes later they were walking toward the Apparition boundary. It was just after sun-up and the countryside was covered in eerie fog, though strangely it felt more soothing than disquieting. "Now will you tell me why you dragged me out of bed at this unholy hour?"

"Sorry," George said, looking surprisingly sincere. "Interrupted a good dream, did I?"

Ron's head filled with the image of Hermione wrapping her tail around his cock leaving her hands free to fondle his…"Yes," Ron stated, not meeting George's eyes, though he knew his burning ears had probably given him away.

"No worries. We've got a shop full of Daydream Charms haven't we?" he said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "Now, be a good boy and take Georgie's hand."

Ron rolled his eyes but did as instructed and a moment later felt the familiar twisting and compression of Apparition. As soon as he was steady on his feet, he looked around, instantly recognizing where George had taken him even though he'd only been there once before.

"George?" Ron asked hesitantly. But George didn't respond. Gone was his smile and carefree attitude and he strode through the plots in determination, a grimace etched on his face. Ron followed in silence. He didn't know why George had wanted to come, or why he'd brought him along, but he wasn't going to leave George's side. Not now, not here in _this _place.

George came to a stop a few feet away from a rather simple headstone, adorned with nothing more than a name, two dates and two simple words that captured the essence of Fred Weasley's tragically short life. Ron fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stood a few feet behind his brother, unsure if he was really invited to share in the moment or only there to bear witness to it.

When George finally spoke, his voice was cracked and hoarse, and his words came out more like a groan than actual speech. "Today's my first birthday."

Ron was confused. He didn't understand. George was _twenty_-one today, not _one_. "George, uh, are you sure you didn't hit your head or something? You're not making any sense," he said cautiously.

"It's _my _first birthday," he said again, his voice trembling slightly. "The first one that's just mine and not…not _ours_." And it finally sunk in what George was getting at.

Ron had never really understood why the twins never complained growing up. He'd always resented his hand-me-downs, everything from his first broom to his first wand, his robes and books and toys, even Scabbers. He'd hated that none of it had ever belonged just to _him_. But some small part of him had understood that the twins had an even worse time of it; not only did they get passed Bill and Charlie and Percy's old things in-turn, but they'd had to _share _them with each other. But it was more than that. They'd had to share a room, even after he'd gotten one to himself after Bill moved out. They'd had to share birthdays and presents because their parents didn't see the need to get two of everything when they always asked for the same thing. They'd even had to share their accomplishments, like when they'd made the Quidditch team in their second year, or the success of the joke shop. Ron might have had five older brother to try and live up to, but Fred and George had been forced to share their entire _lives _with someone else, never having anything just belong to George, or just to Fred.

He'd believed they secretly hated it, hiding their resentment the same way he did, or at least tried to most of the time. But now he wasn't so sure that's how they'd felt. Perhaps it hadn't been a curse, but a blessing. They'd each had a ready-made best friend. And so what if they'd had to share their _things_? In exchange they'd had someone to share all their dreams with, all their fears and hopes and troubles and laughs. Hadn't George told him at the ball how jealous he was of Ron's friendship with Harry and Hermione? Hadn't he said that he'd never felt the need to find another friend since he already had Fred? That he'd thought he'd always have Fred to be both his audience and entertainment?

Ron looked at George. There would be times, Ron knew, that people would look at George in the future and wish he was Fred. Not that they'd want the two of them two switch places or anything; it was just…if he _was_ Fred, it would mean he wasn't buried in a box somewhere. They could imagine that George was just in the next room over or something, that they could have both of them alive again, even if they could never see them together. Or they would look at him and be reminded that Fred was gone, and wasn't coming back, maybe even hate George a little for being the one to survive.

But he would never be Fred. He was George. And looking at him, Ron was painfully aware of how he _wasn't _looking at Fred, and it had nothing to do with George's missing ear. He couldn't see the lines in George's face that would outline his frown the way he had in Fred's. It was strange, because he'd only seen Fred truly upset once in his entire life, but had seen George's misery on a daily basis for the last eleven months. George's sorrows didn't seem strange or unnatural in his expression. The pain in his eyes fit him. It was almost like he'd been born to suffer like this, like he wasn't _supposed _to be happy-go-lucky and carefree. He just couldn't be bothered with it while he'd had Fred around to keep him smiling. But with him gone, there was nothing to stop George from revealing this entirely alien side of himself. And Ron wondered sickly if George wouldn't be better fit for the life of an undertaker than the owner of a successful joke shop.

Now, every time George laughed or smiled or cracked a joke, it would cost him something. He'd noticed it, in the past few weeks, how sometimes George would cut-off his words mid sentence. If you didn't know him, you'd think he'd simply lost his train of thought. But Ron did know him, knew he was waiting for Fred to finish the thought for him, the way they always had, each one sharing the other's burdens

"Hey Gred. It's Forge. I'd ask how you're doing but you'd probably give me an earful and I don't really have the storage anymore," he joked feebly. Oh, Ron's here too. Dunno why he came, but he insisted. Practically dragged me here, too, come to think of it. Think he needed to bring along a witness in to tell Mum in case you turned his teddy into a spider again.

"He's got the shop running," George continued, "in _top_ form again. Better than ever. Well, I think so. I've tried to have a look at the books, but you know I'm rubbish with numbers. We both are. That was our motto wasn't it? 'When in doubt, add some more.' I mean how else would we have found out that by adding six salamanders instead of five to a pepper-up potion made the whole thing explode? Could've done without that same lesson when it came to the Snackboxes though. I'm still convinced it was all the extra gurdyroot we added that caused those boils. Remember? And how you had to convince Stacy Rockers that they _weren't _contagious and that you hadn't caught something when you shagged that Hufflepuff sixth year? What was her name? Casey something? Or was it Cassidy?

"Anyway, It's April Fools Freddie, but I haven't got a single prank ready. Well I did slip Percy's hand into a glass of water so he'd piss the bed. Remember? Verity taught us that one. Dad was right: muggles do alright without magic.

"I guess I just don't see the point. If we did things right, no-one ever knew it was us. And what's the point of going through all the effort without someone to appreciate our fine efforts?

"I dunno Fred. I'm not sure if the shop's what I want anymore. It's not really the same without…without you."

Ron listened as George rambled on, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He desperately wanted to comfort George, to tell his brother what everyone else had been telling him since he started working at the shop: that Fred would want them to be happy, would be glad to know that his dream had lived on after he'd gone, that he would never want George to spend his life in regret and misery But as much as Ron wanted to be the one to tell George that, he knew Fred's opinion was the one that truly mattered, and there was no sense in trying to pretend otherwise. So he waited there by George's side, listening to his brother say all the things he'd never had to put to words before.

"I wish you could see Percy, Freddy. He's worse than ever. Got no-one to keep him from getting too big for his britches and put him in his place. I know, I know. But what do you want me to do? And Mum…" George's playful tone turned yellow. "You're lucky you can't see her. Maybe…maybe I could put on one of your jumpers and convince her you were just taking the mickey out of all of us, off on holiday in the Galapagos or something. Think that might be the only thing that'd help her.

"I'd do it too. I would, if I knew I wouldn't have to take it off again at some point, make her lose you again. I know-I know I couldn't…"

Ron reached out, but his arms suddenly didn't seem long enough to reach George, like he was somewhere else, forever caught halfway between here and…wherever Fred was now. He could only hope that George would turn around and come back to their side. It wasn't his time to join Fred, not yet. But he wasn't quite ready to leave him either. And until he was, Ron would stand in that graveyard, seeing for the first—and _last_—time, just what his brothers truly meant to each other.

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><p><strong>AN: **This chapter's title comes from lyrics in the song "Absent Friend" by Bark Psychosis off their album _Hex_.

As I said at the beginning, I really don't have much to say about this chapter, but I hope you guys liked it. I'll be very interested in seeing your reviews like always.


	23. CH22: Isolation

**A/N: **Fist, acknowledgements to all you amazing reviewers out there: ****Sarden, Hilary, ObsessedRHShipper, MsEan, Mlgregg5, Pamela, hptk, AddisonAddicted, Veritas, jlemon64, GinerPygmy99, MsBinns, heronlove, DeLoreanDMC-12, BarbaraBriana, parvati, Athenais777, Beasley, FightClub18, ottisleft, RyanRow02, Hmm, King's Ransom, ceth1986, aa, FollowTheSpiders, Sandrinha, RonMioneOnly, selene86, youcandoit, avini, newyearszgirl18, milan4ever, HawthornBlood141, oscarpaz00, MaybeOnce, Fred, Michael Ho, I don't have a name, KimiIsBack, EmD23, cleansweep21, stochmika, 0-0, **and **ozzel1.****

Fair warning, this one is a bit different from usual. Chronologically, it's the very first chapter to happen and is one of two that will be set during Deathly Hallows. The other will be chapter 24.

Secondly, this chapter covers three very different points in time. The first takes place just weeks after the end of 'Half Blood Prince'. The second happens in the middle of the book while they are hunting Horcruxes. And the third happens near the very end of the book. I know a few people have expressed disappointment that there are still more flashback chapters like this one and want me to focus on what's currently happening between Ron and Hermione, but this chapter in particular is incredibly important to everything that has happened in this fic so far and I think will finally explain some of the concerns people have had with Hermione.

Also, my beta, **superfan24**, has a new one-shot out called 'Perchance to Dream' and it is incredible. If you are a Lily or Snape fan (not necessarily a Snape/Lily shipper), I highly encourage you to check it out.

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><p><strong>Chapter 22: Isolation<strong>

_28 June, 1997_

"Mum, Daddy, I need to talk to you." Hermione held her breath as she spoke. Things at home had been tense since she arrived back a week before the scheduled end of term. And it didn't help that Voldemort had been causing enough trouble that even the Muggle news sources were reporting on disappearances and inexplicable disasters. So far she'd been avoiding giving straight answers to her parent's questions, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she had to say something. And today, she'd decided, was that day. After all, she couldn't put it off for forever no matter how much she wanted to.

To make things worse, Ron had actually called her house mere hours after they'd arrived home after leaving King's Cross, practically sending her Mum into a panic when he'd demanded to speak with Hermione immediately to make sure she was safe. And while she couldn't help but feel pleased at his concern—and his improved mastery of a Muggle fellytone—the call had done nothing to assuage her parents' worries.

"We've been meaning to talk to you as well sweetheart," her mum said. "Why don't I make us some tea and we'll all sit down together."

Hermione bit her lip, worried about what her parents might have already guessed about the truth. While she was prepared for what needed to be said, she couldn't help but worry about their reaction.

After her mum fixed the tea, the three of them sat down. "Why don't we start," said her father and Hermione nodded.

"Sweetheart, you know your father and I love you more than anything. And that we'd never want to do anything to upset you." Hermione shook her head, though her insides where churning in confusion and worry over what they were getting at.

"It's just the last few years have been rather hard on us," said her dad. "with you spending summers with the Weasleys and Christmases at school because of Balls or your studies…Not that we're blaming you—"

"What your father is trying to say is how happy we were when you spent the holidays with us this year, even if you weren't exactly…in the _best of spirits_."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course she hadn't been in the best of spirits. She'd been downright miserable, knowing Ron was snogging the life out of Lavender Brown. She'd tried her best to enjoy the time with her parents, but knowing she'd rather been under a clump of mistletoe with a red-haired buffoon wrapped around her had made things rather difficult and she'd spent most of the time in her room.

"Right. You were just so upset already that we didn't want to make things worse for you," her dad explained.

"Make what worse?" she asked.

Her parents looked at each other. "Hermione, your father and I…we're…we're…we're…well there's no easy way to say this. We're splitting up."

Hermione felt her jaw drop. "Wh-what?" she stammered

"I know this might come as a bit of a shock—"

"_A shock_?" That was putting it mildly Hermione thought.

"—but we've been having some difficulties for a while now."

"But…but you always seem so happy," Hermione said, even to her ears sounding like a whining child as her eyes burned with salty tears.

"To be fair, Poppet, you haven't been around enough the past few years to say that."

"Not that we're blaming you," her mum repeated, glaring at her husband—soon to be ex-husband Hermione realized remorsefully.

"Of course not," her father hurried to add. "She knows that. You know that, right Poppet?" Hermione felt herself nod. "It's just… we've been trying to make an effort when you're home—"

"We didn't want to burden you, sweetheart. You already put so much pressure on yourself, and you have so much on your plate with that school of yours—"

"But we didn't think it prudent to keep you in the dark with you living here for the whole summer."

"We didn't want to lie to you."

"I know it may not seem like it, but this divorce is for the best."

_A divorce? _This was even worse than she'd been imagining. They weren't just talking about some problems and taking some time apart, maybe seeing a counselor. Their marriage was actually _ending_.

"_How_," Hermione demanded, though her voice came out broken, "can you say you two getting a…a…" she couldn't even say the word out loud. "How could it be for the _best_?"

"We're just not…h_appy_ together anymore," her mum said, reaching out to pat Hermione's hand which was suddenly ice cold.

"I'm sure you know loads of kids your age with divorced parents," said her dad.

Actually, she didn't. There was no such thing as divorce in the wizarding world. Sure, some of her classmates only had one parent—and some like Harry and Neville had none—but they were all due to the war, not…_divorce_.

"How long have you been thinking about this?" she asked. Her parents said nothing, only glanced at one-another. "How long?" she demanded angrily.

"A while actually," her dad admitted, seeming to accept the role of the bad guy, though he did have the decency to look ashamed at keeping this a secret from his daughter.

"We wanted to wait until you were old enough to understand, until you'd finished school—"

"Then why now? I still have another year left at Hogwarts." It didn't matter that she wouldn't actually be going back in September. _They _didn't know that.

Oh why couldn't they have gone on lying to her, pretending like they were the perfect little family? And why did this have to happen at the absolute _worst _possible time.

"Well you're seventeen, and you told us that makes you an adult in your world. That's why you told us you can use magic now."

"And we didn't want to lie to you sweetheart. To be honest, it's difficult to carry this secret around, to pretend like everything's fine."

Hermione sat there, wishing she was somewhere else, anyplace else, preferably the Burrow, where she knew Ron was. She'd only had him back for a few short months, but she realized she depended on him more than ever. She needed him, to hold her like he had at Dumbledore's funeral, whispering to her that things would be alright even if he didn't believe them to be true.

But Ron wasn't here, and these were her parents, her burden to deal with.

"Hermione?" her mum asked tentatively. "What are you thinking?"

Hermione steeled herself, forcing herself to push this new problem to the back of her mind for later. There was something more important she had to do.

"I have something I need to tell you both as well," she said, surprised at how calm she sounded when she could feel herself shaking.

"Oh, of course, dear. What is it?"

"There's a war, a wizarding war, and I think-no I _know_ we're all in danger...because of me."

_14 July, 1997_

Hermione placed the last box of her things on the curb next to the rubbish bin. That was the last of her childhood mementos, her old clothes and dresses too impractical to take with them, her family photographs and her awards and trophies from Muggle primary school, her favorite novels and keepsakes and all the little treasures she'd accumulated over eighteen years that would mean nothing to anyone who wasn't named Hermione Granger.

She hurried inside and rushed into the loo and took out her wand. She'd finished learning the Undetectable Extension Charm a week before and now the simple beaded bag she carried with her everywhere was filled with everything she thought they might need as they hunted Horcruxes. Well, not _everything_, but at least everything she'd had at her house, including Dumbledore's books on Horcruxes.

As expected her parents hadn't been happy to learn that there was a dark wizard on the loose building up an army to conquer England and wipe out or enslave Muggles and Muggle-borns. And they certainly hadn't appreciated the fact that she'd kept things from them for so long about her own involvement, or how it was her best friend Harry that was the only hope their side had. But they'd shut up when she pointed out that she hadn't been the only one keeping secrets. And they'd both been somewhat mollified when she'd told them of her plan to go into hiding in Australia. Together.

Yes, they hadn't exactly loved the idea. Her parents had just come clean that they were separating, and Hermione had told them they needed to run away to another continent together, and they'd need to go on pretending to be that perfect little family a while longer.

But in the end their daughter's safety had been more important and they'd agreed. They'd put the house up for sale and would be moving out in the morning. Hermione had acquired the necessary documents like birth certificates, passports and DDS degrees, all bearing the names of Wendell, Monica, or Sophie Wilkins, using simple Confundus Charms and more complicated Memory spells to get them. Her parents had sold their furniture and pitched some of their other belongings and were all packed and ready to start a new life in Australia. Now, there was only one thing left to do.

Quietly, she crept up to her parents' bedroom where she found them asleep together on the bed, teacups overturned when they'd passed out from the Sleeping Draft she'd slipped them. Actually, they weren't together, she reminded herself. Even though only a few inches separated their bodies, they faced away from one-another as if to say how much they resented being forced to continue living a lie even in sleep. _Perhaps they really do_, Hermione thought sadly.

She'd done her best not to dwell on what her parents' had told her. She couldn't afford to be be weak, not now when so much was riding on her shoulders, their lives included. But that didn't stop the tears from coming at night as she lay there, all alone, wondering if she'd ever see them again, and if she did, would things ever be the same.

She took out her wand, pointed it at her mum and began chanting softly, implanting the false memories necessary to start her life as Monica Wilkins. It took four spells altogether to cover everything and she repeated the process with her father.

Hermione hesitated. During those long nights lying awake on her tear-stained pillows, she'd come up with an idea: a brilliant idea…and a terrible one. She knew how wrong it was, how awful it was to mess with _anyone's _free will, let alone her parents. But she knew there was a chance she might not survive, might never get the chance to find them and undo the spells. And if that happened, she didn't want her parents to spend the rest of their lives alone.

Convincing herself that it was for their own good and not for her own sake, Hermione muttered the spell for the fifth and final Memory Charm. _You love your husband, _she thought desperately. _You love him, always have and always will. You will remember everything that first brought you together, everything that let you know he was _The One.

She repeated the same spell on her father. She wasn't even sure it would work. She knew from her lessons that it was impossible to create actual love, that even love potions only created lust or infatuation temporarily. But she didn't need to go that far. Her parents _had _loved each other once. She was sure of that much, even if she didn't understand why or when they'd stopped. So she didn't need to create those feelings, just…make sure they remembered them.

Guilt gnawing at her heart and tears falling down her cheeks, Hermione placed a kiss on both their foreheads and went to her room to wait. A part of her wanted to leave immediately now that it was done, but she had to stay. She needed to wait until they woke up, to make sure all her spells had worked properly.

So she sat there in an empty room, having Vanished all her furniture so her parents—the Wilkins, she corrected herself—wouldn't find it and get confused when they awoke. She sat on the windowsill, trying her best to quiet her sobs when her eyes caught something outside her window. A very _red _and _lanky _something, standing at the end of the drive looking up at her house. She stood and raced downstairs and out the front door.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her face a mixture of relief and anguish.

"Hi," said Ron softly, smiling as she approached. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked when he noticed her blotchy face.

"What? Oh. It's…nothing," she said, desperately wiping at her eyes.

"Come off it," he said, moving closer. Even though they weren't touching, she could practically feel him; feel the heat that always seemed to radiate from his skin. He was like an anti-Dementor, warming her heart with his mere presence. Without thinking, she did the only thing she knew would make her feel better and buried her face into his chest, clutching his shirt tightly in her hands. "Hey," Ron said, his arms encircling her. "It's okay. Shhh, it's okay. Just tell me."

"I-I did it. Just now, I wiped their memories," she said, her words muffled into his chest. Ron's arms drew her closer and she felt herself melt against him. Ron had called her nearly every other day from a telephone in the village, checking to make sure she was still safe. Since she was relatively confident Death Eaters didn't know how to tap telephone lines, she'd told him of her plan to send her parents away and give them false memories to protect them.

"You…had to. You know you did. It's the only way to protect them," Ron said. She could feel his jaw move as he spoke, his lips whispering gently into her hair. "And you'll see them again, yeah? When we finish this with Harry, we'll go and find them and bring them back."

She pulled back to look up into his eyes, looking to see if he meant it. "Really?" she asked.

"I promise. We'll go together, soon as we're done finding these Horcruxes and know it's safe. Harry'll probably want to come if we let him."

Hermione gave him a watery smile and looked to see she'd left a wet imprint of her face on his shirtfront and laughed. Everything was still such a mess, still so uncertain; but with Ron there, things didn't seem quite so hopeless. They would stand by one another—and Harry—and he had promised to help her find her parents when they'd won. Not if. When. She just needed to make sure they both made it through everything alive.

"Maybe we can keep it just us for that one," she said, letting herself imagine what that would mean for them."

"I think I'd like that," Ron said, smiling broadly.

"Honestly though, what are you doing here?" she asked again.

"Oh that," Ron said, sounding embarrassed and rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away from her eyes. "Y'know, just…practicing my Apparition, yeah? I mean I failed the test, didn't I? And I reckon I better make sure I could do it if I need to. We might find ourselves in need of a quick get-away at some point."

"And you just happened to wind up on my street?" she asked, surprising herself with how brazen she sounded.

"Well, it may not've been a _total _coincidence," Ron admitted, ears quite pink.

Hermione felt a tug on her heart. She was proud of Ron for having the foresight to practice Apparition, but was more deeply affected knowing it was probably just an excuse to come check on her and make sure she was alright. She was certainly glad to have him here with her now. "Well it seems you've got both eyebrows intact. I'd say you have it down," she told him.

"Yeah?" Ron said brightly, obviously pleased at the compliment.

Hermione nodded. "I need to wait a bit longer to make sure everything worked like it was supposed to. Why don't you wait on the side of the house and I'll come find you when I'm ready to go home."

Ron looked at her in confusion and she frowned. "Home?" he asked.

Her eyes widened. "I meant the Burrow," she stammered quickly, flushing at her slip. A part of her certainly did think of the Burrow as home, and even more so now, but she hadn't meant to say so out loud.

"Right," Ron said, smiling softly. "I'll just wait, and then we can head _home_." He looked into her eyes as he spoke, and reached down and squeezed her before walking to the side yard. He gave her an encouraging smile which she returned before casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself and heading inside to see if Wendell and Monica were awake yet.

_31 October, 1997_

"He's g-g-gone! Disapparated," Hermione told Harry as she returned to the dry tent, her wet hair clinging to her face. In disbelief, she somehow made her way over to a chair just as her limbs collapsed, her body wracked with sobs. She cried for hours, her mind completely blank for the first time in her life, unable to process what had happened.

Eventually her eyes ran dry and she noticed she was wearing Ron's blankets; Harry had draped them over her at some point without her noticing. She looked and saw he was asleep in his bunk, or at least seemed to be. But in the process her eyes wandered over Ron's, which seemed terribly empty without his lanky frame to fill it. She got up and crawled into it, curling herself into a ball as she shook once more with silent tears.

Ron was gone, but she could smell him everywhere around her, could even imagine she still felt the warmth of where he'd lain earlier, though she knew it had long since gone cold. Ron was gone.

She'd chased after him, calling for him, begging him to come back, to stay with them, with her. And yet he'd still left. She couldn't understand it, couldn't even begin to try and make sense of his departure. She tried to sleep, willing her mind to give in to its exhaustion, but even that small promise seemed denied to her. Eventually she gave up and began fixing breakfast, only realizing halfway through that she'd made enough for three.

When Harry awoke, they exchanged no words. She avoided his eyes; she couldn't bear to look at him, to let him see how much she was hurting and she wolfed down her food to escape his presence at the table as soon as possible.

When Harry began packing their things away, she sabotaged his efforts, trying to buy as much time on the riverbank as possible. A part of her truly believed that Ron was coming back, that at any second he would emerge from the forest into plain sight, having only needed to leave to check on his family before returning. And each time she heard the snap of a twig or the rustling of the tree branches, she looked up, her face already breaking into a smile at the sight of…but no. It was never him, only small animals, or the sound of the wind, like a whisper.

Hermione knew Harry was watching her as she packed and repacked the bag over and over, and wondered how long he would tolerate her stubbornness. And when she'd gone through the entire bag three times, and gone over their campsite with a magnifying glass, erasing every sign they'd been there, she finally knew it was enough and they could delay no longer. She made her way to his side and held out her hand. Somehow he understood what she really wanted and he passed her the locket. She pulled it over her neck before taking his hand.

…

She let go of Harry the moment they Apparated, arriving on a windswept heather-covered hillside, feeling tears already building in her brown eyes. She couldn't get away from him fast enough, as if he'd been the one to take Ron away from her, and she dropped onto a rock and wept once more, not bothering to help Harry set up camp.

Eventually her tears fell off and she became aware of how cold it was sitting there, the bitter wind biting at her fingers, ears, and nose and rose stiffly and entered the tent. Harry looked up at her, but again she turned away from him. After a moment she felt him step past her, going outside to keep watch. She noticed Harry had set out a plate of food for her, but she wasn't hungry in the least. Strangely she wasn't tired either, considering she hadn't slept the night before and had been wearing the locket for hours which usually sapped their energy.

She couldn't help but wonder where Ron was at that moment, if he had gone home, if he was safe, if his family was indeed alright as she'd tried to assure him to no avail. Was he happier, with a warm bed and full belly? Did he regret leaving? Had he come back to the riverbank only to find them gone? Did he miss her? Or was he having a laugh over how stupid she'd been to stay behind on this miserable, impossible task?

Eventually she sensed Harry's return from the bitter cold outside. Her eyes caught sight of two feet and she looked up, following the legs they were attached to all the way to Harry's face, meeting his eyes for the first time in over a day. She'd almost forgotten about him.

She'd known when she'd made her choice to stay with Harry, when it had sunk in that Ron really was going to leave them, leave her, her heart was almost literally torn in two by his departure. What she hadn't counted on was the _pain _Harry's continued presence would cause her. She hadn't anticipated the way she'd feel every time she looked at him, how much she found herself wishing Harry had been the one to leave.

Their relationship was one rooted in duty and loyalty and an understanding that required few words. _This_ was what they had Ron for, to pick them up when they were down, to remind them that things are never as bad as they seem, to make them enjoy life rather than just live it. She wondered if Harry missed Ron as much as she did, but quickly dismissed that notion. She knew Harry couldn't feel what she felt; if he did, he never would've told Ron to leave. If Harry had cared about either of them Ron would still be here.

Immediately she hated herself for doubting Harry, before feeling a wave of her own guilt. After all, it had been her choice to stay, hadn't it? Harry hadn't held a gun to her head or anything. She only had herself to blame.

Harry held out a hand toward her and she knew how much it probably cost him to put forth even that little effort to make things better for her. But she just…_couldn't_.

She looked up into those green eyes—green, not blue—and brushed past him, not even bothering to change before crawling once again into Ron's bunk and pulling his sheets around her as the endless cascade of tears began once more.

…

Days passed without a word passing between the two friends. She'd thankfully managed to learn to cry herself to sleep, but her somewhat renewed strength only made her feel guilty. And every time she looked at Harry, Ron's parting words echoed back to her like a stake to the heart.

_I get it. You choose him._

Is that what she'd done? What had Ron meant by saying that anyway? She'd understood his words to mean that she was taking Harry's side in the argument, but that was before she'd chased after him, followed him into the rain, looked at his face and heard his last words before he vanished into thin air.

Each time she remembered Ron's voice a fresh wave of guilt and anguish rushed over her. She felt like she'd betrayed him, which was absurd: he'd been the one to leave, the one to betray _them _by turning his back on Harry and the mission. And it wasn't like she'd done anything wrong. How could he have expected her go to with him?

_I get it. You choose him._

_I didn't, _she tried convincing herself. _I wouldn't. I would never choose Harry over Ron. Not like that. It's been Ron for longer than I can remember. It's always been him. Always. _Yet somehow she couldn't believe it. Technically Ron was right, or else she wouldn't be lying alone in Ron's bunk with the locket around her neck as Harry kept watch again. _But not like that_, she thought reassuringly. _Never like that, not Harry_. She'd chosen the mission Dumbledore had left them, not Harry. But that still didn't change that fact that she _hadn't_ chosen Ron.

When Ron had asked her, she hadn't considered leaving Harry's side, not even for a moment.

_Perhaps I should have_, she thought, burying her face into her damp pillow, wondering if it was possible to drown on her own tears.

…

Eventually, Harry finally tried talking to her at breakfast, asking her opinion on where she thought they should go next. She didn't answer as she scraped her fork across her plate, trying to get the last bit of food into her mouth. After everything, she couldn't possibly contemplate thinking about Horcruxes or Voldemort or anything of that sort. None of it seemed to matter anymore, which only made her further question her decision to stay behind.

All she could think about as they packed camp and moved further west was where she would be if she'd gone with Ron. Perhaps if she'd said yes when he asked her to go, he might have finally admitted his feelings for her, finally ended the awkward dance they'd been doing for months. _Years really_, she thought truthfully.

Perhaps if she'd just agreed with Ron he wouldn't have even felt the need to leave. Perhaps it had just been a test to get her to admit her own feelings. If so, she had failed, more miserably than she would've believed possible.

When it came her turn to take the watch, she didn't move from her chair where she'd been pretending to read The Tales of Beedle the Bard but secretly had been glaring at Harry's back through the open tent flap.

Why should she take the watch anyway? Hadn't she done enough for Harry already? She'd sacrificed Ron for him, so surely he could bear a little cold for her sake.

It was Harry's fault really, come to think of it. _He'd _been the one to put the idea of leaving into Ron's head. _He'd _practically ordered Ron to leave, not once but three times before Ron finally walked out. _He'd _deliberately goaded Ron into getting angry, knowing just what to say to upset him. And Harry hadn't been the one wearing the Horcrux either. At least Ron had that as an excuse, while Harry had just been an arse for no good reason.

She had to admit Harry really had nothing to lose. Ron had spoken the truth when he'd told Harry his parents were dead. And Sirius was gone too. Harry was a marked man anyway; he wasn't risking his life by going on the run. Voldemort was gunning for him so it was kill or be killed.

Ron on the other hand had risked everything by coming. He'd left his entire family behind, knowing his parents and brothers would be fighting for their lives. Mr. Weasley was probably being interrogated daily at the Ministry. And Ginny was at Hogwarts under the thumbs of Snape and the Carrows. How could Harry get upset with Ron for worrying about his sister's safety? Honestly, it was appalling just how easily Harry had disregarded his girlfriend, pushing her aside for his own sake. And she wondered how long it would be before Harry cast her aside as well for his own sake.

She pretended not to notice Harry glance at her and sigh. He stood, realizing she wasn't going to take the watch and went back out into the dark. Hermione watched him and felt a new wave of guilt crash over her. She wished she could go take his place, go apologize for being so cold, but she didn't have the strength. Once more she crawled into Ron's bunk and went to remove the locket. But when she tried to do so, she was confused for a moment when she didn't find it before remembered that Harry was already wearing it.

She cried herself to sleep again that night, not only over Ron but over the realization that her dark thoughts couldn't be blamed on the locket.

…

Hermione started making more of an effort to appear cheerful in the mornings after that, still guilty over the abuse Harry had taken unknowingly inside her head. They even put their heads together for a bit, trying to plot out their next move. But the effort was wasted, and they once again had to settle for simply moving camp.

When it was her turn to take the locket, she was aware that it no longer had the same effect on her. Before Ron left, when she wore the Horcrux she grew exhausted and irritable, snapping at anything or anyone that bothered her. And when she wore it to bed, she had nightmares so terribly vivid that that she woke up feeling more exhausted than before. But all that was gone now that Ron had left. It was almost like there was nothing more it could do to hurt her; it had already taken away the thing, the person she'd treasured more than everything else. She'd fallen into such a pit of despair that even the evil of the Horcrux could no longer touch her.

She looked back into the tent where Harry was no-doubt brooding silently and wondered if he'd noticed anything different about the locket, if it still effected him or if he'd become immune to its manipulation like she had. She wished she could just talk to him openly not about the mission but just as friends. Surely Ron's absence was hurting him as much as it did her and she hated seeing him so depressed.

Oh how much easier would it be if she could just fancy Harry instead of Ron! Harry was strong, loyal, determined, brave, selfless, everything that Ron had proven he wasn't by leaving. Honestly, it'd serve him right if she and Harry _did_ fall into bed together.

She felt the sudden urge to vomit at such a disgusting thought. She knew Ron was all those things, otherwise shed never have fallen for him in the first place. But…in the end, it hadn't made any difference. She'd never felt so lonely as she did now with Ron gone, not even when they'd had rows that lasted months at a time. At least then, she'd been able to see him, to hear his laugh, feel the need to scold him for his terrible table manners or his failure to put his best effort into his homework. Even when the sight of him had made her heart ache with misery and longing while she watched him with Lavender, a small part of her had taken solace in his presence.

But still, she couldn't shake the idea of wanting to hurt Ron, to get back at him, to prove him right.

_I get it. You choose him._

The darkest part of her wished she could just walk in there and claim Harry's lips with her own, let him have her body if not her heart. And she took delight in the satisfaction she would gain when Ron found out. Because it wasn't about Harry; it was about hurting Ron.

Of course for Ron to find out, they'd have to see him again. They'd all have to make it out of this war alive. And even as she considered the possibility, she knew it was ridiculous. Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to hate Ron, to want to actually hurt him by getting off with his best mate. She'd learned that in sixth year it was a waste of energy to try and hate Ron, not when she really loved-no, she didn't love him, _couldn't _love him. She refused to even consider the possibility.

Besides, it was almost sickening to even _think _of Harry like that, let alone use him for such a purpose. It was ridiculous that she was even considering it. Even if she'd been able to see Harry in such a light, see him as something more than a best friend, he still had feelings for Ginny. And despite what Ron had said, when this was all over, she knew he would want to go back to her and try and fix things between them. At least Harry had someone out there who missed him, was waiting for his return, she thought bitterly.

She went to bed that night feeling lonelier than ever, with not even her tears for company.

…

Hermione was, impossibly, even more miserable after that, her previously false chipper mood gone as easily despite what it had cost her to pretend in the first place. That night, she caught Harry looking at the Marauder's Map, no doubt looking for Ginny's name, making sure she was safe, comforted even if he couldn't be with her. She wondered if Ron's name had appeared there as well. Surely he'd returned to Hogwarts after leaving them, pretending he'd finally recovered from his spattergroit. Was Harry looking for Ron's name along with Ginny's? Was he as anxious as she was to know that Ron was okay, or was Ron too painful a subject for him to think about?

Harry probably felt as guilty as she did for Ron's leaving. She knew all three of them were at fault, them and the Horcrux, thanks to what they'd done and said—or hadn't said in her case. And when she was sure Harry had finally fallen asleep, she crept over to his bed and grabbed the map. She had to know, had to check and make sure that he was safe. If she saw Ron's name, perhaps she could move on for now, stop obsessing about him. After all, she had made her choice to remain with Harry. What good was she doing him by spending all her time crying?

But though she spent over an hour scouring the map, she failed to locate Ron's name anywhere in Gryffindor tower or in the classrooms and corridors if he'd perhaps resumed his position as prefect and was on patrol.

"Where are you?" she asked no one in particular. She'd only wanted to make sure he was alright, but instead she was more worried than ever. Perhaps he'd gone into hiding or was now working with the Order, putting himself in even more danger than she and Harry. _Or what if he's been captured? _she wondered morosely no longer able to stave off the fear that had been lurking since the moment he vanished before her eyes. _What if he did come back and found us gone? He could be out there right now looking for us, lost and alone._

It would be just like him to regret leaving and decide he needed to find them again, to come back and apologize. Of course he'd never say the actual words, but in his own way he'd try and make things up to them, let them know how sorry he was.

She wanted to laugh at the idea but couldn't, not with Ron gone. She wanted to cry, needed to. But though her eyes burned, her body couldn't produce the tears she longed for. She was wrung-out, used up. And somehow, her failure to cry only made thing seem worse. Hermione wiped the map clean and placed it back where she'd found it before crawling into bed, her body wracked with dry sobs, promising she'd cry for Ron tomorrow, that she'd forgive him the minute she saw his face again. She only hoped she'd have the chance before…before…before….

…

Ron had been gone a month and Hermione felt like she'd cried an ocean's worth of tears since his departure. She couldn't believe it was even possible for someone to cry that much and she wished she had packed some of her parents' medical books so she could look up the subject of human tears to find out for sure. For a moment she laughed manically to herself, imagining what Ron would say if he knew she was thinking about books.

While she and Harry had set up their new camp, she'd decided not to cry over Ron anymore. Tears wouldn't bring him back, wouldn't change anything about their situation. The only thing she could do was try and help find the remaining Horcruxes and a way to destroy them. The sooner that happened, the better her chances of seeing Ron again. She had to hold on to that hope; it was the only thing that got her through each day.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up, started at the sound of Hermione's voice as it broke the silence and she cringed. They'd become almost like strangers over the last month, sharing the same living quarters, but only speaking when absolutely necessary.

"What is it? Are you alright?" he asked concernedly.

_Of course I'm not alright and neither are you. Ron's gone! _was the first answer that came to mind, but she held back from saying so, remembering her earlier resolve. "I'm…fine," she managed to lie. "I was just thinking…maybe we should try talking to Phineas Nigellus again."

"Why?"

"Maybe he can tell us more about the sword. Maybe we can get him to let slip more about what's going on at Hogwarts, what Snape's up to."

Harry looked at her like he didn't see what good it would do, but after a moment, he nodded and Hermione managed a smile in gratitude which he returned. It was small, practically nothing really, but at least it was something.

Unfortunately they didn't learn anything from Phineas Nigellus' portrait that night. After he appeared and she blindfolded him, he spent the evening lauding Snape, the first Slytherin headmaster since himself, vanishing the moment Harry snapped back by calling Snape a murderer.

Nevertheless, Hermione didn't let herself despair. At least they had tried _something _which was more than what they'd done since Ron left. And that night, Hermione didn't mind breaking her vow as just a few tears leaked from her eyes. She might not be able to stop her heart from aching for Ron, but she wasn't going let herself continue wallowing in misery while there was a job to be done. She needed to be strong, for Harry, for Ron, for herself. She just had to hope that one day, Ron would come back to take the last of her tears away.

…

She rolled over to lie on her stomach, her whole body practically on fire with want and need that made sleep impossible. No matter how much she tossed and turned, the ache inside her refused to abate. Her hand founds its way beneath the old maroon jumper she wore to bed to press the spot between her thighs where the need was greatest. She rubbed, moaning quietly at the slight relief she got from the friction she felt through her jeans.

It had been ages since she'd done this. The ache had been constant since they'd first started camping. Actually, it had been there since she was thirteen if she were completely honest, but she felt that wearing the locket had somehow _magnified _not only her desires but her inability to control herself. Sure, she'd done this at school, but she'd never felt the need for release every day, let alone more than once. The lockets insistence had always left her needing more, wanting more, reminding her that what she really wanted was sleeping in the bunk below hers.

At first those…urges seemed to have left her along with Ron, but now they'd returned stronger than ever and she was paying the price for ignoring them over the last month.

She wasn't an idiot; she knew they boys did it too. She never believed them for one second when Ron or Harry volunteered to go foraging for berries or gather more firewood. For goodness sake, had they thought her fooled when they slipped off to the loo and let the faucet run to cover the quiet noises they couldn't help but make? She could only hope she'd been more discreet in taking care of her own needs.

The movements of her fingers increased and she opened her legs wider to push against her hand and the mattress beneath and let her mind wander back. She remembered how on some nights she'd wanted to climb into Ron's bed while Harry stood watch, to press herself against him so she could feel him…and he could feel her own wet desires as well. Or how she'd tried to catch his eye every time he made up some excuse to go off alone, desperately wanting to follow him, just to see what might happen if she stumbled across him in the midst of relieving himself, maybe listen to him sigh her name as he came.

At times it had taken everything she possessed not to throw herself at Ron and _beg _him to shag her. A part of her thought if they could just do it once, the problem would go away and she could focus her attentions back on their mission. But on the other hand she knew that doing it _just once_ would never be enough for her: that unleashing that side of herself, of finding such rapturous pleasure with Ron might convince her that there wasn't a _need _to stop Voldemort, not while she was safe in Ron's arms. And where would that leave Harry? Would he have felt excluded? Betrayed? Jealous that she and Ron had each other while Ginny was so far away?

Still, she wondered if such wanton behavior might've been worth it, if it might've kept Ron from leaving. Even he couldn't be so thick as to misinterpret such actions, couldn't possibly accuse her of choosing Harry, of wanting Harry when he discovered she was literally _dripping _for him.

Her hand drifted upwards before sliding below her waistband, needing to feel more, to imagine that it was Ron's hand on her, giving her such pleasure. Her fingers slipped inside her opening and she fought to hold onto the illusion, to convince herself that She thrust against her hand over and over as her release built, the occasional squeak of pleasure escaping her lip muffled by her pillow. An in one completely unsatisfying moment she came with a choked cry before rolling her head to the side so she wasn't suffocated by her pillow. And found herself looking straight at Harry's, his head drooped in sleep sitting in a chair in the middle of the tent.

She turned immediately, pulling her hand from her knickers and putting her back to him. Her face burned with shame and embarrassment at how she'd completely forgotten his presence. She wanted to laugh but found instead that she was crying, that her entire pillow was now soaked with tears.

She was soaked and sticky with discomfort, but didn't get up to change. Instead, she gave in to another, strangely more satisfying urge and let her tears fall until her exhaustion took her.

…

Hermione was frantic, doing everything she could for Harry as he lay moaning and writhing before her eyes as she levitated him into his bunk. They'd only just escaped Godric's Hollowed, escaped Nagini, escaped Voldemort.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn't take her eyes off Harry. She didn't know what was wrong with him. She thought he might be dying…he seemed to be slipping away from her, as if fighting to either leave his body or cling to it. And his hands kept clutching at his chest.

She knew she needed to treat his wound but instead she reached for his sweat-soaked shirt and pulled it off. His hand immediately went to the locket, puling at it as sit seemed glued to his chest. She reached for it and pulled back as it burned her fingers. Panicking, she did the first thing she could think of; she used a severing charm. In her haste, she clumsily took a chunk of Harry' skin along with the locket, but she couldn't worry about that now she thought as she flung the Horcrux into the dark recesses of the tent. Still holding her wand, she summoned a bottle of dittany from her bag and rubbing it first on the snake bite and then on his chest, crying softly and muttering to herself.

"You'll be alright," she told Harry as she cleaned his wounds. "You _have _to be alright. You can't leave me here all alone. You can't…can't _die_ Harry."

Harry was crying too, not like he had in the graveyard just a short time ago but like a baby as he thrashed about. It was too horrible to witness but she couldn't bear to leave him. Ron had already left her and she couldn't lose Harry too. She knew if Harry left her that would be the end; she wouldn't have the strength to go on knowing she'd abandoned Ron just to fail Harry.

Idly she thought of his broken wand and how furious he'd be with her once he found out. She could only _hope _she'd get the chance to apologize. Even if he hated her for it, at least he'd have to be alive to hate her.

"Please Harry," she pleaded, clutching his hands and bringing them to her lips, planting a soft kiss on his freezing knuckles. "You're not supposed to leave me. You need to get better so you can beat him. You need to make up with Ginny and You help me find Ron again so we can make him understand. I can't do this without you Harry."

She'd never felt more helpless. She knew Harry wouldn't give up if their roles were reversed and he was left to go on alone. He was so much stronger than she was. Ron too was so much braver; she never would've had the courage to leave. And she somehow knew he was out there somewhere, right now, fighting to find them again. It was the only answer she could come up with for why his name never appeared on the Marauder's Map when she looked at it after Harry went to sleep or while he was on watch.

Hermione only wished there was something she could do to help him find them She needed Ron to help her now. Even when things were hopeless he never lost his cool like she did. He'd be able to calm her down enough to find a way to actually do Harry some good.

She bowed her head, resting it on Harry's now-burning fists that clenched tightly around hers like a vice, praying she'd done enough to keep Harry going until Ron could find them and bring back a light to their darkness.

…

She knew showing Harry the book would be a mistake. It was written by _Rita Skeeter _after all. Losing his faith in Dumbledore was the _last _thing he'd needed. They'd already lost his wand…and Ron's absence was a pain without end. And Harry was still so weak from Nagini's venom.

Still, Hermione had to admit that she found it almost as disturbing as Harry obviously did. It was almost unbelievable, really, trying to picture Dumbledore as someone other than the kindly wizened Headmaster. She tried to comfort Harry, offering him empty words of encouragement she wasn't even sure she believed herself.

"He loved you," Hermione whispered as Harry finished his rant against the man she knew he'd come to see as a father figure after the loss of Sirius. "I know he loved you," she said, trying with all her heart to convince him of the truth in her words. For a moment she even thought he'd believed her. After all, she'd been thinking of Ron when she said it, trying to convince herself that despite his leaving he still loved her. It was her wavering faith in that hope that she put into her words, imagining what she herself wanted to hear. But then Harry spoke, letting her know that she hadn't fooled him in the slightest.

"I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me." He picked up her wand and sat back down in the tent's entrance. "Thanks for the tea. I'll finish the watch. You get back in the warm."

She hesitated, but complied. Talking to Harry wasn't doing him any good and it was making her doubt her own belief that Ron really could love her. After all, hadn't Ron left them the same mess Dumbledore had?

Hermione picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. For a moment, she closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Ron's hair she was feeling, that Harry's dark lockers were a bright auburn. Perhaps Harry had the right of it. Maybe it was time to give up hope, give up her faith in Ron as he had in Dumbledore. And as her fingers slipped through his hair, she opened her eyes and the illusion vanished.

She went inside and climbed into her own bunk for the first time since Ron left. There was no comfort left for her in his sheets, only a cruel taunting reality that finally, after all their efforts, the last bit of hope she and Harry had clung to was gone.

_4 January, 1998_

It was still early when Hermione woke, but both the boys' beds were empty. She found a cup of tea gone old waiting for her in the kitchen and allowed herself a small smile as she tapped it with her warm to warm the liquid inside. Careful not to spill, she took a sip before climbing out of the tent.

It was a beautiful morning, such a contrast to the grey skies and rain that had followed them since they visited Luna's house. But it seemed the storm had finally lifted after last night. She blushed, remembering how she'd stormed out of the tent to search for Ron, almost afraid he might've left her again so soon after returning even though she knew it was ridiculous. And she remembered what they'd talk about when she finally found him, soaking wet.

She looked around, squinting in the sunlight. She spotted Harry sitting behind the tent, his own cup of tea waiting forgotten beside him. She sighed, knowing how torn he was between his desire to find the Hallows and continuing with their hunt for the remaining Horcruxes. She knew she ought to try talking to him again, trying pulling him out of his misery, but she couldn't bring herself to fall back into that pit of misery with him. She was still exuberant after last night and she wanted to hold onto that feeling for a little longer.

So instead, she slowly made her way down the rocky shore toward Ron. She watched his back, imagining the grin on his face as he skipped stones across the water. Only a week ago he'd destroyed a Horcrux, yet here he was acting like a child as if he didn't have a care in the world. She loved that about him, and loved the fact that he made her feel the same way. It was part of what had been so hard to carry on without him. He was light the sun, brightening each day with his smile and laughter and she'd finally found her light again after two months of night.

Hermione stopped a few feet behind him and set her mug down on the rocks. He had to know she was there, but he didn't say anything. She thought about just continuing to watch him, to see his gangly and often awkward limbs move with such grace and strength as he flung stone after stone across the shimmering river. But she didn't want to just watch his happiness; she wanted to share it.

"Thank you," she said, coming up beside him. "For the tea I mean."

He looked over at her and her heart melted at his grin. "Sorry if it was a bit cold. I made it for you ages ago."

"I'm surprised you both let me sleep so late."

He shrugged. "You were exhausted. You probably needed it."

She nodded. She certainly had needed it. The truth was, after finally getting a chance to clear some of the air between them she'd slept better than she had in ages, maybe since their last night before leaving Grimmauld Place. "What are you doing?"

He shrugged again, picking up another stone and tossing it effortlessly. She watched it skip, once, twice, three times before sinking into the water below. "Thinking."

"About?" she questioned.

"What's next? Where do we go from here?" He paused. "I could, ah, use some help if you're up for it."

In answer, she crouched down next to him, running her hands over the loose stones. "I'd like to try it your way," she said softly and she could practically hear him grinning as he crouched too, his fingers searching for a stone, grazing hers a few times by accident.

"Now here's the key, the flatter the better," he said, finding two suitable rocks. "Try that" he said, handing one to her and standing. "Lean back a bit, get quite low. Flick the wrist…" and there it went, the stone skipping across the water before it sank.

She smiled. "Wow you're really good at it. So…what kind of like that?" Hermione asked innocently, chucking the rock into the water. She looked over at him, squinting against the sun to see the grin on his face, the one she'd missed for so long, the one she'd…

"No," Ron chortled. He bent down and picked up another stone and handed it to her and she looked down at him, unable to hold back a smile of her own as she watched his hair alight with sunlight. "Here, try again."

Hermione threw the stone the same as before and watched it sink into the water with a splash. Trying to keep a straight face, she turned to look at Ron who she saw was also struggling not to laugh at her.

"Let's try this he said," taking a step toward her and moving behind her. He rested on hand on her arm while the other fell to her back and she shivered with nervous excitement. Last night she'd stopped him from touching her, had to stop herself as well, but now didn't want him to stop.

"Get down and..a…just put this arm back," he took it, guiding her through the motion. Her skin was burning from his touch, and she almost forgot to let go of the stone, forgot that he was trying to teach her something.

"That two," Ron said proudly, releasing her.

"Two," she agreed, feeling a bit of an idiot for missing the touch of his fingers. Suddenly, she struck upon a brilliant, devious idea.

"That's good…So what…kind of like…" she tossed another, letting it plop into the water with a loud thunk, and pouting at her failure.

"You'll get there, you'll get there," Ron said as he bent to get another stone, frustratingly not cottoning on to the fact that she really _didn't _care that she was rubbish at skipping stones, or to what she was really after.

He moved behind her again to help and this time, she daringly pushed her bum back against his crotch when she let go, doing her best to wiggle suggestively against him, inappropriately hoping to feel something poking her back. She giggled lightly as she watched her stone skip successfully.

"Nice. That's not bad, three" he said, taking a few steps away from her to toss his own and she bit her lip, wondering if there was a reason why he didn't want to stand so close to her. "Try and get a bit…bit lower,"

She sighed in frustration. She couldn't blame Ron. Hadn't she been the one to tell him she wasn't ready, not yet, so soon after he'd returned?

And she wasn't, but that didn't stop her from wanting him to try anyway. Deciding that she didn't want him to think her a complete girl, she tried again, keeping in mind everything Ron had tried to teach her.

"Flick the wrist. Yeah, that's it," he said as she did it all on her own. It was a small triumph, practically nothing really, but she still felt as though she'd accomplished something.

They never got around to discussing plans on where to go next, but Hermione didn't mind. They just stayed out there for hours, laughing and teasing one another, both of them stealing secret looks at the other, both wanting to make that morning last forever.

_2 May, 1998_

Hermione woke up in a daze, a strange, unearthly light filling her room at the Burrow.

_Burrow? The last thing I remember was the Battle. And Ron and I were headed to the Chamber of Secrets…_

She got out of bed, feeling like she'd downed a flagon of Hagrid's mead, and went looking for someone, anyone. She went up to Ron's room but found it empty. She made her way to the kitchen and found everyone: Harry, Ron, Ginny, all the Weasleys, Neville, Dean, Luna, and all their classmates and the rest of the Order.

"What's going on?" she asked, completely baffled. But everyone was too busy laughing and dancing with each other to hear her. It would've been comical watching them if she wasn't so annoyed at feeling confused and ignored. George was pulling things out of the hole where his ear used to be to roars of laugher. Hagrid was swinging Professor McGonagall around in what she could only guess was some kind of dance. And Bill, looking frighteningly like Greyback, was practically mauling Fleur's face off while he kissed her.

Quickly she joined Harry, who was clutching Ginny to his side rather possessively, as if he was afraid of letting her go. "Harry what's going on? What happened with the Battle? What happened with Voldemort and the Horcruxes?" she asked.

Harry looked at her strangely, almost as if he didn't recognize her. "What do you mean what happened? Are you thick or something? We won."

"We-we did?" Hermione said, feeling her heart lift at the though as she wondered how she could've possibly forgotten.

"Of course," Ginny said, though the words almost sounded like a sneer to Hermione's ears. "Harry _is _the Chosen One after all. There was no way he could lose."

"But what about the Elder Wand?" she asked.

Harry pulled the ancient wand from his robes, twirling it in his fingers like it was a mere toy. "It didn't help him in the end. Riddle only had magic on his side. I had something far more powerful. So I beat him and now the wand's mine."

She didn't like the look of Harry's face as he said this, his eyes looked bloodshot, his pupils narrowed to slits like a snake's.

"Don't you think that thing's a bit dangerous, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Didn't you listen to what Mr. Lovegood and Ollivander told us about its history?"

Harry shrugged. "I reckon if Dumbledore could handle it, so can I. But I won't be as big a fool as he was and waste it."

Hermione opened her mouth to balk at his arrogance, but closed it again after a moment. If what Harry said was true, he'd beaten Voldemort. Didn't that prove he was a great wizard, maybe even as great as Dumbledore? Right before her eyes Harry and Ginny began to snog and Hermione turned away, uncomfortable and embarrassed. Thankfully, she spotted one of the few people Harry was more likely to listen to than herself.

"Ron," Hermione said, walking up to where he sat, pushing her way through a crowd of girls including Romilda Vane, Lavender, Padma, Gabrielle Delacour, and, most oddly, Madam Rosmerta. "You have to talk to Harry. He's thinking about keeping the Elder Wand."

"So?" Ron said as he poured himself a shot of Fire Whiskey and tossed it back.

"So it's _dangerous_. If anyone finds out he has it, they'll be after him."

"Maybe you should stop shooting your mouth off about it then," Ron suggested, shooting her the briefest of glances before pulling Romilda onto his lap and causing her to giggle uncontrollably by whispering something into her ear.

"Yes, well—"

"Besides," Ron continued, pouring another shot. "He's Harry _fucking_ Potter. And it's like you said, he's got the Elder Wand. He's unbeatable."

"No one's unbeatable, Ron. Snape managed to kill Dumbledore."

"Yeah well Harry took care of Snape too, didn't he?"

"He did?"

Ron took the shot and nodded. "Ripped him near in-half with _Sectumsempra_. 'Bout time the git finally got what he deserved."

Ron's words strained credulity. She couldn't believe he'd be so blasé when mentioning someone's death, or Harry committing murder. But somehow what followed was even more unbelievable.

"So when do you think you'll get out of here?" he asked

"What?" Hermione asked, not sure she'd understood.

"I mean, aren't you going to go find your parents?"

"Oh," Hermione said in understanding. She hadn't thought about her parents in so long, and was touched Ron had remembered his promise.

"I mean the sooner the better. I'm sure Ginny will want you out of the room so she and Harry can celebrate good and proper."

"What?" she asked again, sounding stupid to her own ears. Surely she'd misheard; no way would Ron be so casual talking about Harry and Ginny doing _that_.

"When. Are. You. Leaving?" Ron said slowly, emphasizing each word like he was speaking to a child.

"When-whenever you're ready, I suppose. I'm sorry, I'm just…I feel like I've missed something."

"Oh I'm not going," he said casually.

"What?" Hermione repeated, feeling like she'd never been so confused.

"Why would I want to haul my arse to Australia to look for your parents? Why would I leave all this?" he said, spreading his arms to take in all the girls batting their eyes at him or looking murderously at Romilda, like they couldn't wait to change places with her.

"But you…you _promised_ Ron," Hermione pleaded. "You promised you'd go with me."

"Did I?" Ron asked, grinning devilishly. She nodded. "Whoops. Sorry."

"Sorry?" she choked out.

"Yeah I can't be bothered right now. Just make sure you take your stuff with you when you go," Ron said before pulling Padma onto his lap next to Romilda, the three of them laughing together like idiots.

Feeling tears welling in her eyes, Hermione fled the room, running out of the Burrow, not sure where she was going but not really caring. She didn't understand what was happening, but this was not what she'd expected when she'd dreamt about them winning the war. This was more like a nightmare.

Miraculously she had enough Muggle money left in her beaded back for a plane ticket and took the first flight to Sydney. She had no clue where her parents might be, but she knew they had always liked the sea and thought it as good a place to start as any. Right now, it seemed more important to her to get away from the Burrow and Harry and Ron's strange behavior. She spent the flight trying to remember what had happened after she'd followed Ron into the Chamber. She remembered being impressed at how he'd come up with the idea to use a real Basilisk fang after they'd lost the sword. And she'd been absolutely speechless when he'd managed to imitate parsletongue and opened the Chamber after she'd thought there was no way they could get in without Harry's help. But after that…nothing, until she woke up in her cot at the Burrow. She couldn't remember if they'd destroyed the cup, or if Harry had found the diadem. She couldn't remember them killing Nagini or Harry defeating Voldemort.

What had happened? Had she been hit with some curse and knocked unconscious? Had she somehow lost her memories?

It almost seemed impossible for so much to have changed in such a short time, but time seemed to still be moving rather strangely and the plane was touching down in Syndey before she'd managed to reason any answers out of her strange predicament. She wandered out of the airport and into the city, completely lost as to where to go next. She wished she'd gone to Kingsley or McGonagall or the Weasleys for help in her search. And most of all, she wished Ron had kept his promise and come with her.

Why had he acted so indifferent toward her at the Burrow? She'd been sure they'd been growing closer ever since he returned and destroyed the locket. And after their escape from Malfoy Manor, she'd felt like something could happen every time Ron checked on her while she recovered at Shell Cottage. He'd been so attentive, so gentle, so apologetic, like it had somehow been his fault they'd been captured.

Lost in her thoughts, she practically walked right into her parents.

"Hermione?" her mum asked, completely surprised to see her.

Hermione couldn't believe it, couldn't believe she'd found them so easily. "Mum," she said as tears of relief cascaded down her face. "Daddy," she said, flinging her arms around them both.

Far too soon for Hermione liking, she felt them let go. "What are you doing here?" her dad asked.

"I came to find you. How-how do you remember me?" she asked, suddenly remembering the Memory Charms she'd used on them.

"Oh, you mean that spell?" her mum asked. "It wore off a few weeks after we arrived."

Hermione was surprised that her spells had failed, but she couldn't' complain. At least this had turned out alright. She'd found her parents, alive and happy.

She started to cry even harder.

"Stop that," her dad said sternly. "Hermione, we don't have time for this right now."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "It's just…everyone's been behaving so strangely. Ron and Harry aren't acting like themselves. Ron, he-he promised to—"

"Hermione, we really don't have time for this," her mum cut her off. "We're on our way to file for divorce."

Hermione was bowled over. She hadn't even considered that if her other spells hadn't worked, then her spell to make her parents remember their love for each other must have failed as well. "But…but you've been together all this time," she pleaded.

"Well it takes a while to file all the paper work," her dad said indifferently.

"And we did have to deal with the fact that our _daughter_ had lied to us and used her witchcraft on us," her mum said darkly.

"I'm-I'm sorry," Hermione said miserably. "It was the only way. I had to make sure you were safe." Even though the words were her own, Hermione realized they didn't sound like her as she spoke.

"Don't make excuses, Hermione. You're better than that," her father said coldly. She looked at her parents, seemingly unfettered by her sudden appearance. She'd known that they wouldn't be happy with what she'd done to them, but she thought they'd at least give her the chance to explain. They hadn't even asked if she was alright, despite her battered clothing and the blood crusted on her face and hands. But then again, even she didn't know whose blood it was or how it had gotten there.

The small part of Hermione that was still a lonely little girl with no friends in the world beside her parents longed to hear her mum call her 'sweetheart' or have her dad refer to her as 'Poppet,' but she saw no love in their eyes, no forgiveness, no concern.

"We really need to go Hermione. We're already late. Why don't you go back to the house and wait there and we'll talk about this later."

"Can't I go with you?" Hermione asked. Despite her parents' cold reception, she didn't want to leave them, didn't want to be alone again.

"Why?" her mum sneered, her eyes flashing scarlet like Harry's had. "You've always been _so _clever, haven't you? And you've made it clear how little you _need _us."

"I do, Mum," Hermione said desperately. "Please I do. I'm sorry."

"You'll be fine, Hermione," said her dad. "You're a big girl. And you're used to being on your own. You'll be fine for a few hours." They walked off without another word, seemingly melting into the distance.

Hermione turned and started walking, struggling not to cry. She had no clue where her parents house would be, but somehow her feet seemed to know where to go and they lead her to a house that was an exact replica of their home back in London. Unfortunately the comfort the familiar sight might have given her was spoiled by the impossibility of its existence.

"Finally showed up have you?" a voice called out.

She looked and saw…Harry…and Ron, waiting for her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked Why did it seem like everyone suddenly knew more than she did? Wasn't she supposed to be the clever one?

"Waiting for you," Harry said.

"And people call me thick," Ron said and both boys sniggered.

"I thought you were staying behind. How did you even find me?"

"It was easy," Harry said, twirling the Elder Wand again.

"You left so suddenly, you didn't give us the chance to let you know," said Ron.

"Know what?" she asked timidly, dreading the answer.

"We wanted to make sure you knew not to come round the Burrow. I mean it's no secret that no-one can even stand you."

She looked at them in disbelief. Surely they couldn't be serious. "Why?"

"Well…we just don't have the room for you," Harry said, smiling.

"It's not like you really belong there anyway," said Ron. "You're not even a Weasley."

"Harry's not a Weasley either," Hermione pointed out, her protest sounding petty even to her own ears.

"Only for a little while longer," said Ginny, seeming to appear from nowhere behind Hermione and walking to Harry's side. It didn't escape her notice that a large diamond ring sat on her finger.

"You're engaged?" she asked incredulously.

They began snogging again in answer and Ron chuckled at the sight, taking it on himself to answer. "Yup. Harry proposed the second Voldemort dropped dead. The wedding's next week."

"Next week! Isn't this all happening a bit fast?"

"What's it to you?" Ron asked, surprise etched on his face.

"They're my friends!"

Ron laughed. "Not very clever after all, is she? Hasn't even noticed she's got no friends," he said cruelly, echoing words so far in the past they seemed to belong to another lifetime, or had before Ron cheerily reminded her.

"I-I just think they're rushing things a bit," she stammered frantically. "What's the hurry, now that the war's over?"

"Why wait?" Ron said. "Besides, this way it can be a double wedding."

"Do-double…"

And then appearing the same way Ginny had in a swirl of smoke was Lavender, who suddenly wrapped herself around Ron, a ring identical to Ginny's on her hand.

"Ron," Hermione muttered weakly. "What-what's going on?"

"What?" Ron asked. "Oh this? Well Lavender and I are getting married too."

"He saved me during the battle," Lavender cooed. "And right after he told me how he wasn't over me."

"But-but…but what about all those girls? What was all that at the Burrow?" Hermione was struggling to keep her voice even and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Just a bit of fun," Ron said, grinning wickedly. "Last days of freedom and all. Lav Lav knows it didn't mean anything, right?"

"Right sweetheart," Lavender cooed again before kissing Ron right on the mouth and Hermione felt her mouth fill with bile at the sight of them.

"But-but what about _us_?" she asked, struggling to hold back the rain of tears threatening to escape.

"You?" Harry scoffed, finally coming up for air.

"Why would you think Ron would ever want _you_?" Ginny asked, giggling.

"I thought-I…all those things you said to me, when you told me why you left…you said you wanted…"

Ron shrugged. "We still needed you then. I knew if I told you the truth, that I was just using you, Harry and I would have a lot more trouble finishing Voldemort off."

"Weren't much help in the end though, were you?" said Harry.

"Damn near useless," Ron agreed. "Left me and Harry to figure out everything."

"Probably should've brought Ginny along in the first place," said Harry.

"I helped," Hermione protested weakly.

"How?" Ron said, barking with laughter. "Harry was the one who figured out the Hallows, Harry was the one who gave me the strength to destroy the locket. _He's _always been the one who believed in me."

"Don't sell yourself short, mate," said Harry. "You got rid of that Horcrux all on your own. And you figured out how to use the Basilisk fangs and get into the Chamber. And you finished off the cup and Nagini too."

"Oh, stop Harry," Ron said, waving off his praises, though clearly he enjoyed it.

"You were so _amazing_ Won Won," Lavender cooed, making Hermione's stomach churn.

"Yeah I was, wasn't I?" said Ron. "Guess I didn't realize what I could really do when I stopped depending on this _slag_," he said, fixing a venomous look on Hermione from which she recoiled as if she'd been stung. "Should've stopped listening to all shite she said about me ages ago."

"I never-I didn't," Hermione said.

"You did and you know it," said Ginny. "I'm just glad my brother realized he could do better than you before it was too late, realized he _is _better than you."

"Not like it's too hard," said Harry. "I mean she's got some brains but she's just so…_narrow-minded_."

"Nah, it wasn't that. You should know Harry. Dumbledore practically told you, didn't he? Said it was the power of love that was needed to beat Voldemort."

"Yes, we all know what a heartless bitch she is," cackled Lavender.

"Well, not totally," corrected Ron. "We all know how much she loves Harry."

"I don't!" Hermione shouted. She looked at Harry. "I mean I do, but not-not like that."

Harry just laughed again.

"Good thing I got to him first, wasn't it?" said Ginny.

"You picked a good one," Ron agreed. "You got the diadem, didn't you mate? And you took down Voldemort."

"With you by my side, of course," said Harry.

"Where else would I be?" Ron said, laughing.

_Hermione._

They were all laughing, laughing at her as she looked on, feeling as if the world was closing in around her. The four of them seemed to be growing larger, consuming her entire field of vision as first Harry and Ginny's and then Ron and Lavender's lips met over and over and over before her eyes.

_Hermione._

Hermione fell to her knees before them, watching them, her friends who suddenly wanted nothing to do with her. Had the last seven years really been one big lie? Had Harry and Ron never been her friends, using her only for her brains and books until they could figure things out for themselves and no longer needed her? Had Ron truly never cared for her?

_Hermione!_

She wondered when her parents would be back. Not that they could help her. They had wanted nothing to do with her the same as Ron and Harry. They wouldn't even be her parents anymore; they'd be divorced, going their separate ways, hating her for lying to them, for using magic on them. She was useless. They had won, but she had still lost everything. And all her books and cleverness couldn't fill an empty heart.

"Hermione!"

Feeling as if she'd just done a somersault, Hermione opened her eyes—strange since her eyes had already _been _open—and found herself kneeling on the cold floor in the Chamber of Secrets, a Basilisk fang clutched in her right hand, hanging limply at her side. Hufflepuff's Cup sat on the floor in front of her eyes, a black murky liquid floating inside it, swirling with the images she had just been seeing, Ron's face looming largest as his lips attacked Lavender over and over.

"Come on Hermione! Snap out of it!" It was Ron's voice, practically shouting into her ear. She felt him, kneeling behind her, his arms wrapped around her as if trying to pull her back out of whatever nightmare she'd just lived, holding her so tightly that she felt her arms bruising beneath his grip.

"R-Ron," she stammered, her voice cracking as if from prolonged disuse.

"Hermione," Ron croaked in relief. "Fuck, I thought I'd-I thought you'd…you've got to stab it."

"I can't," she said.

"Yes, you can. I know you can. Just…don't listen to it. Forget whatever it showed you. Lies, that's all they are, just lies."

"Ron…" She was afraid. A part of her feared that if she did destroy it, if she did manage to kill the Horcrux, if they managed to win, the nightmare would still come true. She could still lose everything, even if they won.

"I've got you," he said, hugging her more tightly into his chest.

Hermione lifted the Basilisk fang and plunged it downward into the cup, straight through the fake-Ron's eye, red and gleaming and sinister, so unlike the one's she could feel watching over her.

With a hissing scream, the thing inside the cup died, and it tipped over, twisting inward as the poison seeped through the metal.

Hermione felt herself collapse backward as her body was wracked with sobs. She felt Ron's arms encircle her, and she could feel his heart beating frantically at the same pace as her own. "I've got you," he whispered again into her hair and she thought she felt a few drops of water land on her head, as if he too was crying.

"Was it…was it like that? For you?" she sobbed.

"Err…sort of," Ron said softly. "I don't really know."

"What?" she asked, slowly turning herself around to face him, though she was grateful that Ron didn't let go of her as she moved.

"Well with the locket things…sort of came out of it. But you just sort of drifted off, like you were in some sort of trance. I was shouting at you for ages, but you wouldn't…you weren't…you weren't answering."

They were so close. And despite the cold chill of the Chamber, she felt Ron's warmth, safe and all-consuming, burning its way through her as he held her.

"So you didn't…you didn't hear anything?" she asked.

Ron shook his head. "I think he knew, Voldemort I mean. I think he knew he had to separate us to try and stop you from destroying it. It was sort of the same with me an' Harry. It tried-it tried to turn me against him."

She understood the truth in his words. The Horcrux had not only used her fears against her, but it had manipulated her into thinking they would only come true if she killed it. But that still didn't mean what she'd seen couldn't come true.

"What did you see? What did the locket show you?" she asked, looking into his pale eyes, swimming with tears the same as her own.

Ron hesitated a moment before answering. "It doesn't matter. They're just lies, like I told you. None of it is true anyway."

"It knew things…things I've never told anyone."

"I know," Ron said sadly.

"Why did you insist I do it if you knew something else would happen?"

"Because…because destroying it…after I'd done it…it was like-like a breath of fresh air, like seeing the sun after days months of rain, like when I woke up that morning in the Hospital Wing sixth year and found you waiting for me and we were friends again." He sounded quite embarrassed at this last bit, and Hermione felt her cheeks heat up. "And I just thought you deserved a shot at getting that. You'd earned it, sticking with Harry all this time, even when I…"

She raised a hand to his cheek, felt the slight scruff against her smooth palm. Her finger drifted to his lips to silence him. "I'm sorry," she said.

"What-what for?"

"For being mad at you when you came back, for being mad at you for when you first left. I don't-I don't blame you, now. I can't, now that I know what those _things _can do."

"Well it's a good thing we've only got two left, right?" said Ron, trying his best to smile. He stood, never letting go of her in the process. "Come on. We need to find Harry."

He tried to move, but Hermione's feet were rooted to the ground. Right there in that moment, she knew they were safe, knew things were alright. But if they went out there, there was no certainly, even if they won. He looked at her. "Ron I—" she broke off, unable to speak.

Ron smiled again, a real smile this time, and the last bit of Hermione's heart melted at the sight of it. "Tell me later, yeah?" he said.

Any other time, Hermione would've taken his words as a rejection, as another sign that he didn't care, didn't fancy her. But after the nightmare she'd just survived, she recognized his words for what they were: a promise, Ron promising that they had a future, a _later _that they would share, together.

"Right," Hermione said, taking Ron's hand as they raced off to find Harry, a new resolve burning within her. "Later." She just had to make sure both made it through until then.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The title of this chapter comes from the song "Isolation" by the band Joy Division off their album _Closer _(hey, whaddya know? Sometimes it actually seems like I _do _have a plan).

Well here it is, the chapter you guys didn't even know you were waiting for. A few brief explanations. JKR stated in an interview that she'd at one time planned to have the Grangers divorce at some point in the books. Obviously she scrapped that idea, but I was intrigued by it and decided to make it a part of this fic from the very start. I think it adds another level to the burden Hermione has to bear while hunting Horcruxes, as well as playing into her actions during this fic. And yes, we see Hermione's secret spell first mentioned way back in chapter 4 and brought up again in chapter 19. Huge kudos to **nellysh **for predicting it correctly (I think she was the only one to guess correctly in a review). Hope you guys find Hermione's use of memory charms believable and not contradictory to canon which tells us magic cannot create feelings of love.

As for the cup Horcrux...this was one of the very first things I came up with for this fic. I wanted Hermione to get the chance to face her nightmares the way Ron did, the way Harry had to walk into that forest alone, knowing he would have to die. I've portrayed her greatest fears as not just Ron, but Harry as well not needing her anymore, not loving her for her, but only for her brain, for what she could do for them. And yes, it's supposed to appear a bit comical and ridiculous. Think of it as a dream which seems totally nonsensical upon waking, but feels complete real while you're in it. As for how it works…think of it like a cross between a Pensieve and the potion Dumbledore drank in the cave when he and Harry went to get the locket, which is why Ron has no idea what Hermione saw or heard.

Anyway, I have a lot more to say, but I've probably already over-explained this chapter. You guys are smart, so I'll let you figure out the rest.


	24. CH23: Another Day Full of Dread

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to **newyearzgirl18. **Her review a few chapters ago gave me the idea for the opening scene of this chapter and helped me solve a little plot hole. So thank you for that.

And a thank you to **superfan24** who kicked me in the butt this chapter and made me fix a very important scene this chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23: Another Day Full of Dread<strong>

_2 April, 1999_

_"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!" Ron bellowed as his fists pounded the stone walls of the cellar until they ached and bled. But still he did not stop. He could hear her; hear her screams echoing down the stairs. Each time she cried out her voice seemed weaker and he knew she was fading. He knew she was strong, but no-one could survive the Cruciatus forever. There was only so much someone could take, and Ron couldn't stop from picturing Neville's parents, picturing Hermione like them, alive but lifeless. _

_"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!" he shouted again, his lungs aching with the strain. Why was Harry doing nothing? Hermione was up there dying while they sat there doing nothing. They had minutes, maybe only seconds._

_He tried Apparating upstairs. He knew it was possible, even without a wand and tried again and again, remembering how the Deluminator had taken him right to her, just weeks earlier. But each time he tried, he could feel himself hit some kind of barrier. He could hear Luna trying to talk to him, but Ron was lost to reason._

"_HERMIONE! HERMIONE!" He could hear that bitch Bellatrix up there, murmuring curses, cackling, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. The worst part was each time she hit Hermione with the Cruciatus, he felt a little relieved. At least if she was still screaming, she couldn't be dead, right?_

_She couldn't die, not now, not after she'd forgiven him for leaving, not after everything they'd already survived. After he'd left the tent that night, he'd made a promise to himself, sworn to never leave her side if he managed to find them again. He would keep her safe if it took his last breath. _

_Hermione let out another wailing scream, worse than ever, and Ron sobbed and tried Apparating again, knocking himself backward to the hard floor in the process. WHY? Why hadn't they let him take her place? And why wasn't she just telling them the truth? Screw the sword, screw the Horcruxes. What did any of it matter if she died?_

"_HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"_

Ron sat up in his bed at the Burrow, drenched in sweat, completely disoriented. But it only took a moment for him to gain his bearings before running to his bureau. He flung open a drawer and began rifling through the contents, flinging knickknacks everywhere in his haste before he found it: the Deluminator. He was drunk on desperation and tried again and again to focus on Hermione, to find her, to save her.

It wasn't working. Slipping the broken object into his pocket he raced down the stairs, bursting into Ginny's room, who was, strangely, awake and dressed in full Quidditch gear.

"Where is she?" Ron demanded.

"What?" Ginny asked looking startled and confused.

"Where is she?" Ron repeated more frantically. "Hogwarts? Her parents? Where? Where is she spending the holidays?"

"I-I think she went to Australia. At least that's what she told me," Ginny said.

"You _THINK?_" Ron shouted, clutching at Ginny's robes desperately. "I need you to _KNOW_, Gin. Where is she?"

"Australia!" Ginny choked out before managing to pry Ron's death grip off of her. "Would you just calm down? What's wrong?"

"WHAT'S WRONG? SHE'S DYING! THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG!"

"What? No she's not," said Ginny, looking like she wanted to laugh but held back at Ron's furious and panicked expression.

"She is! Bellatrix has her! The Cruciatus—"

"Ron. Bellatrix is _dead_."

Ron looked at her, confused. "No. She…she…"

"That was _last_ Easter. Almost a year ago. Remember? Mum got her in the battle."

Ron's frantic brain tried to digest this new information while still trying to figure out a way to get to Australia in the next five seconds when Harry, burst into the room, followed closely by George, Percy and Mr. Weasley.

"What's going on?" Percy asked. "We heard Ron shouting."

"Are you alright?" Harry and Mr. Weasley asked Ginny simultaneously while George moved to inspect Ron for injuries while he stood there numbly.

"It's fine," Ginny said, trying to calm everyone down. "Ron just had a-a nightmare."

"_Did _you?" George said, his mood instantly shifting from worry to glee. "Ickle Ronniekins had a scawy dweam, did he? Wanted Gin Gin to make it all better?"

"Lay off him, George," Percy said sternly.

"Was only kidding," George grumbled. "Honestly, does anyone have a sense of humor in this family?" he continued muttering under his breath.

"Are you alright mate?" Harry asked Ron, sounding quite worried. Of course, Harry _was_ an expert on bad dreams.

When Ron failed to respond, Ginny spoke up. "He thought you three were back at Malfoy Manor," she said. Harry and Mr. Weasley's eyes immediately shone with understanding, but Percy and George looked confused, having never heard the full story of the trio's adventures the previous year.

"What happened at Malfoy—Oww!" George exclaimed as Ginny elbowed him in the ribs. "What was that for?" he asked her, though Ginny elected to respond with a glare that silenced George.

"Alright, alright," said Mr. Weasley, now that it was clear nothing was wrong. "Boys, why don't you go back to bed? It's still quite early."

"Why are you dressed for Quidditch?" Percy asked, turning to Ginny. "And at…five-fifteen in the morning, no less."

"Err…" She looked around nervously, avoiding everyone's eyes. Obviously she'd been hoping Ron would've drawn all the attention in the room and kept them from noticing her appearance. "I…have tryouts," she said after a moment as if relinquishing some great secret.

"Tryouts?" Harry and Mr. Weasley said together. "What tryouts?"

"Yeah Gin, tryouts for what?" George asked, clearly enjoying his sister being in the hot seat for once. Harry however, looked disappointed, hurt even.

"Okay," Ginny said, throwing her hands up. "After the last match Gwenog Jones sent me an owl. I guess she came to the match after I talked to her at Christmas and she saw enough to let me come to the Harpies' trials as a Chaser. I thought I could sort of…_slip out_ without anyone noticing. I just didn't say anything 'cause I didn't want to get everyone excited in case I didn't make it."

Everyone in the room looked at her in stunned surprise. George was the first to recover. "That's brilliant, Gin!" he said, moving toward her and wrapping her in a hug. "Fred always said we'd wind up with at least one pro in the family. We considered trying out ourselves if the shop ever went under. But if it couldn't be us…"

"Like you two would've even had a shot," said Percy wryly, causing Ginny and George to look at him, torn between pity and amusement: everyone was still getting used to the fact that Percy now joked on occasion, even if they _were _usually terrible. Everyone moved to congratulate Ginny.

"Okay, okay, _enough!_" Ginny said as she pushed her siblings and father away, though she was laughing lightly as she spoke. "Save it for _after _I make the team, alright? Now, can I have a moment with my brother since he came down here to see _me_?" she asked.

Everyone filed out of the room. Everyone save Harry who didn't move. He hadn't joined in with the others in the excitement at Ginny's announcement. Instead he stood there, looking almost glum, barely concealing a frown.

"Ah, could you give us a minute, Harry?" Ginny asked in a sweet tone that didn't fool anyone. Nevertheless her words seemed to pull him out of his thoughts.

"Sure. You…want me to go with you?" he asked her.

She smiled. "We'll since you're already up…"

Harry smiled back and nodded before leaving the room. Ron, finally coming out of his shock, could only shake his head. In the span of a few words Harry and Ginny had managed to diffuse the situation growing between them. _If only Hermione and I could be like that_, he thought glumly. He knew things between his sister and best mate weren't always perfect, but he couldn't ever remember seeing or hearing them having a go at one another. It was like…like there was some understanding between them, something that didn't require words to communicate, and he was reminded of Fred and George and the connection between them. He'd known Hermione for nearly eight years and they were _still _trying to understand each other. And for all their efforts, they were failing, and Ron couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever have that kind of connection with anyone.

"Are you alright now?" Ginny asked him once they were alone.

"Yeah. Sorry about before," he said, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Ginny waved him off. "Don't worry about it. As you saw, I was already up." She paused. "Do you have them a lot?"

"What?"

"Nightmares? About what happened to you three last year?"

"Not really," Ron admitted truthfully. Most of the time he didn't manage to sleep long enough for dreams to wash over him. These days, he did most of his dreaming while he was awake, as he sleepwalked his way through life at the shop.

But there _were _nights when he thought he heard a dark, rasping whisper in his ear, almost like a hiss, or the image of two lips—neither belonging to him—meeting over and over, breaking only long enough to laugh at his pathetic existence, at his fantasies and his delusions, his _presumption…_

"Are you sure she's alright?" he asked.

"Hermione's fine, Ron. I'm sure of it."

"She doesn't…Does she ever have nightmares?"

"Not really. I mean sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of the night to find her crying in her sleep. But I don't think they've anything to do with what happened at the Malfoy's."

"She told you about that?"

"No, Harry did. Last summer, when he told me about what you three were up to. He thought it was his fault…what happened to her. Because he said Riddle's name," she explained. "I think he wanted to apologize to Hermione, but after the funeral…he didn't think it was the best idea. So I guess he told me instead."

Ron wanted to laugh, but couldn't. _Of course_ Harry would blame himself for what happened back then. He actually had blamed Harry for a bit, and told him so during their stay in Shell Cottage before immediately feeling guilty, knowing the whole thing had been an unfortunate accident. But he was glad he'd never said anything to Hermione about it. He had to know she didn't blame him, and talking about it would only bring up bad memories better left forgotten.

"I don't think she cries about that stuff, about the war. I think it's more…_recent _matters that upset her," Ginny said pointedly.

"So you know," Ron said, his shoulders sagging in relief, finally free of trying to appear strong, from hiding the truth.

"She told me right after Christmas."

"And you two are friends again," Ron said, bristling at her betrayal even though he specifically hadn't told anyone because he didn't want them punishing Hermione further for her mistake.

It wasn't a question, but Ginny answered anyway. "No. Well, yes, I suppose. I don't-I don't really know what we are," she admitted.

"Join the club," Ron said, taking a seat on her bed.

Ginny sat down next to him, bringing her face uncomfortably close to his to examine him. "You don't hate her." This also wasn't a question.

Ron shook his head. "I couldn't-I could _never_…"

"Do you want _me_ to hate her?" Ginny asked, her eyes wide and questioning.

"God, no!" Ron said.

She nodded. "I didn't think so. I could…if you wanted me to," she said, smiling.

"Thanks. Nice to see you're finally on my side."

She swatted him on the arm. "I've always been on your side you dumb oaf. You're my brother." They sat there in silence a moment. "Why haven't you told Harry?"

Ron thought about her questions. For months, since the moment he came back from Australia really, he'd been telling himself that Harry didn't need to know, that what had happened was between him and Hermione. And no matter how much he hurt, no matter how angry and betrayed he felt at times, he didn't want to hurt Harry and Hermione's friendship. He knew Harry would take Hermione's betrayal personally, almost as if by cheating on Ron, she'd cheated on him too. It didn't matter if Harry forgave her as Ron knew he probably would eventually; knowing the truth would still change their friendship forever.

And there was his real answer.

"I dunno," he said, rubbing his face with his hands. "It just feels like…like if I tell Harry, it makes it _real_, like I can't forget that it happened."

"Ron. It _is _real. Whether or not you tell Harry, it _did _happen."

"I _know_!"

"Do you?" Ginny asked fiercely. "Because it didn't seem like it at the Ball."

"I just-I just want things to go back to the way they were."

"Back _when_? When you were both hiding your feelings? When you were hurting each other, when you were making the other jealous with Krum and Lavender?"

"YES! Yes, it'd be better!"

"How?"

"BECAUSE AT LEAST THEN I COULD HOPE, OKAY?" Ginny startled backwards at Ron's shouting and Ron lowered his voice and quickly apologized. "I could hope that maybe someday she'd realize…"

"What?"

"That she wanted me. That I was good enough? That I could prove to her I deserved her." He sighed. "I don't know." He looked at Ginny and for the first time in years saw her look at him with…what? Pity? No. It was pain: pain over seeing someone she loved hurting so deeply, and hurting himself more every day with his very thoughts.

"Ron, you've always been good enough for her. She knew that before anyone else did. You were the one who needed to realize that."

"Then why did-why did she go off with someone else?"

Ginny didn't seem to have an answer to that one.

"You know, when she told me I wasn't angry at her. Not one bit. It was weird. A part of me wanted to hit her to smack that bitc-that girl," Ginny amended quickly after seeing the look Ron shot her. "But it was like a reflex. I didn't actually _feel _angry. I think part of it was because I'd seen her spend three and a half days crying her eyes out over you. I mean literally. She didn't even get out of bed, not once, not even to piss. _God _I swear, by the time she finally pulled it together enough to take a bath I'd never smelt anything so foul." She looked at Ron, hoping to see some sign of amusement in his face, but his expression remained blank.

"Anyway. I remember thinking…well, about you, really. 'What would be best for Ron?' She told me you knew. But it was so obvious you didn't want to be mad at her. I could see it, from the moment she walked into her parents' house in Australia that night; I knew you wanted her back."

Ron wanted to deny the accusation but couldn't. He didn't have the strength to go on lying, to Ginny or himself.

"I don't know why she did it. Honestly, I'm not even sure she knows why. But I know she wants you back. And I know you feel the same."

"It isn't that easy, Gin," Ron told her. "There was more…a lot more I didn't know."

She got up from the bed. "I never said it was. But sooner or later, you're going to have to decide: either let her go or take her back. 'Cause right now it isn't fair to either of you. Love her, hate her, erase her from your memories. I don't care. That's your decision. You're my brother and I'll stick by you. And Harry…Harry will always support you," she said, though she sounded less certain as she said it. "_Both_ of you. But that's _if _you talk to him, if you let him know what happened."

Ron felt a warmth spread through him at Ginny's words. He'd spent years jealous of Harry and Hermione's friendship, as close as siblings, that he'd ignored his own sister. "When did you get so clever?" Ron asked, finally smiling.

She grinned back at him as she spoke. "I've always been clever. It's just now you're smart enough to listen. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some flying to do."

_6 April, 1999_

"So how was it then?" Verity asked.

"Well, how bad could it be with that much chocolate? Honestly think Easter might be my favorite holiday."

"Bet you say that to all the holidays," she teased.

Ron shrugged. "Well I always mean it at the time."

"Men always do," Verity muttered, chuckling to herself. It was the shop's first day back open after the holidays and business was rather slow, so slow that George had stepped out for a bit for a 'business meeting' with Mundungus Fletcher, leaving just Ron and Verity alone. It had been strange since George started working at the shop again. Ron had expected him to immediately take-charge, or at the very least split the responsibility and have each of them manage their own shop

But so far, George seemed content to let Ron continue running things while he busied himself with new ideas for products, spending most afternoons at the shop locked away in the back where explosions would be heard every so often as the rest of them worked. He hadn't said anything because he was still grateful simply to see George up and about, but a part of Ron couldn't help but feel frustrated; George was back, but Ron still had just as many responsibilities as ever. And as if to rub it in, George was still disappearing for hours at a time, either at night or in the middle of the work day, and never let anyone know where he went.

"So was it just the food that made thing so great?"

"I need another reason?" Ron asked seriously, causing Verity to roll her eyes, and he grinned when he knew she wasn't looking. "Actually, Ginny had a tryout with the Harpies. They let her go out for Chaser even though she's been playing Seeker at school this year. Harry went with her, said it went really well."

"And d'you believe him?"

"O'course. Harry wouldn't lie about something like that. Besides, if it _hadn't _gone well, Gin would've made sure everyone knew it. Would've acted so foul she'd have spoiled the holiday for the rest of us."

"What about your sister-in-law? She should be having her baby pretty soon, right?"

"'Nother month, give or take. Not like you can even tell," he said as they continued to work. It was true; even eight months pregnant, Fleur looked like she'd barely gained a pound. Not that Ron really cared one way or the other, but as a result he and everyone else had to put up with Ginny's bitching about Fleur during her time at home. She'd obviously been disappointed that Fleur hadn't swelled to the size of a cow, and apparently even a good Quidditch trial couldn't sooth her when George asked Ginny if she was eating for two as well at dinner one night, prompting her to break out her Bat-Bogey Hex for the first time in ages.

"And your Mum?" Verity asked, more tentatively than her earlier inquiries.

Ron mulled this over. He kept hoping for some miraculous turnaround in his mum the same way George had seemed to suddenly bounce back, but with each day he lost faith. She was getting better, he knew that, but it seemed like for every step forward, she took a half step back immediately.

Everyone had been hopeful that seeing George smiling again would do her some good. And indeed, George had taken to visiting alone with his mum those first few days the way his father and brothers had tried before him. But it was always a risk in doing so; George had managed to get her to laugh on occasion, but she'd also broken down at the mere sight of him, softly moan Fred's name over and over until his dad had taken her away to the bedroom and they didn't see her again for over a day. He knew this hurt George as well, but he didn't give up; it was another reason Ron kept his mouth shut about George's lack of responsibility at the shop.

"So what about you?" Ron said, changing the subject. "Do anything fun with the time off I gave you?"

"_You _gave me? I'll remind you that George is back now."

"I'm still manager," Ron said smugly, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. "Which means you have to do what I tell you and right now I'm telling you to share your holiday stories with me."

"Geoffrey and I broke up."

She said it flatly, as if she were talking about the weather or cauldron bottoms and she was so calm it took Ron a moment to process that 'Geoffrey' had been her boyfriend's name. He gaped at her, shocked. They'd been together ages. If he'd known this was coming, he would've expected anger or disappointment, maybe some tears even.

"Are you…okay?" he questioned.

"Fine," Verity said brightly.

Ron looked at her warily. Normally he would've tried to offer her some comfort—_try _being the optimal word—but he didn't know if it was appropriate or even wanted, in this case. "So…who chucked who?" he asked bluntly.

Verity put her hands on her hips and let out a noise of indignation. "What do _you _think?" she asked, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Ron flinched. "No-I didn't mean-I wasn't—" Verity's stern expression cracked and she broke out into peals of laughter. Ron could only watch, even more confused than before.

"Should…see…face!" she squeezed out between hoots of laughter.

Ron's confusion turned quickly to embarrassment followed by anger. "You were faking?"

"No," she gasped, still clutching her sides. "You just…looked…so scared."

"I was _not_ scared."

"You were. You looked like you thought I was going to rip your head off."

"Well can you blame me? You're a scary woman."

"And you're just a big softie at heart."

Ron snorted. "So you're really okay?" Ron said. "With the whole Geoffrey situation?"

"Of course."

"You're not upset, or anything?"

"Why should I be? I'm the one who broke things off."

"Really? Why?" Realizing that sounded a tad insensitive, he amended the question. "I mean how did it happen?"

"It hasn't been the same with us for ages, not since September…" Verity trailed off, and for the first time in him memory, Ron saw her flush in embarrassment, though he couldn't figure out why. "Anyway," she said, trying to recover, "he was yelling at me to stop leaving my knickers hanging in the shower. So I shouted 'What are going to do if I don't? Chuck me?' And when he said he 'maybe' I-I felt excited, relieved. That's when I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That it was already over." Her eyes grew wistful, distant. "I didn't care if he was serious. I _wanted _him to be serious. It felt like…like we'd finished things month ago and just finally getting around to actually saying it out loud."

"You couldn't have tried to make it work?"

"That's the problem. I could've but I didn't want to try try. Forcing it wouldn't have been fair to either of us. I would've resented him for making me stay and he would've resented me for not caring enough and we would've split sooner or later anyway. It just…it would've ruined the whole thing. At least this way we can keep some good memories."

_Wonder if Geoffrey sees it that way_, Ron wondered. Sure, it was easy for Verity to say it'd been for the best, but she'd been the one making all the decisions. _Just like Hermione_. "How do you know?" Ron asked, trying to control the sudden indignation he felt. "How can you be so sure you did what was right for him? What if he wanted you to try?"

"He didn't!" Verity shouted. "He was _happy _about it. Excited." Tears were in her eyes and Ron felt his anger melt away. And any discomfort he might've experienced was superseded by his desire to console her. He wrapped his arms around her as her body started to shake, pulling her to his chest and shushing her softly, knowing words would not help her right now. "It's why he'd been so short with me. He'd-he'd found someone else, but didn't want to be the one to-to…"

Ron stifled a laugh, though Verity thankfully didn't notice. Geoffrey was starting to remind Ron of…well, himself. "I thought you wanted to be shot of him?"

"I did. I do. I-I don't know." She broke out into another round of sobs. "It's stupid, but even though I didn't want him anymore, it still hurt to know that…that he could just move on." Ron just held her, letting her get it all out of her system. It was strange to see Verity so vulnerable. Finally, she started to quiet down.

"Sorry," she said, pulling away and wiping her eyes with a handkerchief Ron had given her. "I'm so embarrassed," she said, chuckling.

Ron laughed too. "I won't tell anyone," he promised. "I think you needed that."

"I did," she said, nodding. "I thought I was fine. I mean I thought I didn't miss him…"

"Maybe it's not him," Ron said sagely. "Maybe you just want someone to feel close to."

Verity sniffed and looked up at him. "You're right," she said softly.

"I-I am?" Ron said, surprised. He'd just been making stuff up, saying anything to try and get her to stop crying.

She nodded, and took a step closer to him, pressing her soft body into his. "I have wanted someone. For _ages_."

Ron licked his lips, feeling the heat of her body, the swell of her breasts. "Do I…know him?" Ron managed to ask after so difficulty.

In answer, Verity pressed her lips to his.

It was a short kiss, soft, but intense, one he'd thought about for ages, hoped for since Percy's announcement. "Guess you're not as much of a _softie _as I thought," Verity whispered sultrily, her lips ghosting over his as she spoke. Ron's mind still on the kiss they'd just shared, it took him a few seconds to realize what she was talking about. Hurriedly, he shifted his hips away from hers, turning away to adjust himself with absolutely no dignity whatsoever.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Ron apologized while trying to get his cock tucked up into the waistband of his trousers. "I didn't—"

His words cut off as Verity's hand touched his face and moved it back around to face her. "Don't be."

"What?"

"Don't be sorry. It's a compliment." And with those words she kissed him again.

This time, Ron was the one who pulled away after a few moments. "Shouldn't we slow things down?" he asked.

She laughed. "Relax, Weasley. It's not like I'm asking for a ring or anything."

"Yeah, but…" Ron looked around hastily as the answer he was looking for was hidden somewhere in the room. "But you _just_ ditched your boyfriend," he said.

"Exactly. I'm single now. And so are you. We're allowed to be young and stupid and have fun. and make mistakes because we don't think before just going for something we want." She paused a moment and frowned. "Or did I totally misread this whole thing?"

"No!" Ron assured her.

"Did you not like it?" she asked.

"No! I-I did."

Her frown disappeared, replaced with confusion. "Then I don't see what the problem is."

Ron jammed his hands into his pockets. The problem was there was no problem. He was truly out of excuses; he fancied Verity, there was no boyfriend in the way. He even had Hermione's permission. _Not that I need it_, he told himself.

_What else am I waiting for? _he wondered. _Nothing, _he realized. _Absolutely _nothing. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, but she got there first.

"It's fine. Really. I get it," Verity assured him, reaching out to briefly squeeze his hand before walking to the door. "You're not ready. I can wait. But Ron," he looked at her, "I won't wait forever," she said, kissing the corner of his mouth before going back to work.

…

Ron told Verity that it had been such a slow day they might as well close up early, but in truth he simply didn't want to suffer through the rest of the shift in awkwardness; he was completely lost in regards to his next move.

Usually he went straight to the Burrow after work, but after Verity Disapparated, Ron went for a stroll down Diagon Alley and into the Leaky Cauldron. He felt like he'd never been more in need of a stiff drink. He walked over to the bar to greet Hannah Abbott, who'd started working there a few months earlier.

"Hi Hannah," he called out. They weren't exactly friends, and they certainly hadn't been close back in school, but since the war he had a new appreciation for everyone in the D.A. who'd fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. And he certainly understood the pain she felt from losing her mother.

"Ron, hi. You know your brother's here?" Hannah said.

"Which brother?" Ron asked, curiously.

"Sorry, I'm not actually sure," Hannah said, sounding embarrassed.

"No sweat," said Ron. "I've only got about a hundred. Makes it hard to keep track of their names sometimes, even for me."

Hannah smiled. "Well, whichever one it is, he's sitting over in the booth on the back wall," she said, tilting her chin in the direction of the mystery Weasley. After paying for a drink, he went over to find out if it was Bill, out for a bit of lunch, or perhaps Percy skiving off work to see Audrey. He chuckled at the mere thought, but had to admit it wasn't as impossible an idea as it might've once seemed. Or maybe it would be…

"George!" Ron exclaimed when he finally made it to the booth and peered inside to find his brother sitting next to a rather attractive witch. "So this is your idea of a business meeting?" Ron asked, half joking, half serious. "Funny, because your _friend _here doesn't exactly look like Dung."

"I should hope not," the girl said.

Ron turned to apologize and got his first good look at her. "Angelina?"

"Hi Ron," she said. "Long time no see."

"What're you-I mean what would-how…hi," he said finally, and she laughed.

"Why don't you sit down?" she suggested and Ron slid in across from them. It could just be his imagination, but they seemed to be sitting rather _close_.

_Were they…? Could they be…? _

Ron shook the thought from his mind and fixed his glare solely on George. "Mind explaining how you ended up here when you were supposed to be working?"

"Err," said George.

"And you better not've put this on the shop account. You can pay for your own booze."

Angelina stood. "Well it sounds like you two have some utterly boring things to talk about, so I'll be right back. Gotta see a witch about a thestral." She slid out of the booth and kissed George on the cheek. "Feel free to watch me walk away," she said, making Ron's eyes nearly pop out of his head.

As soon as she was out of sight, Ron rounded on his brother who had indeed taken the opportunity to ogle Angelina's backside as she walked away, his whole head tilting as she rounded the corner to the loo. "Angelina?"

George's focus snapped back to Ron. He shrugged. "It's not like that," he explained. "We're just…hanging out."

"Is this where you've been going?" Ron asked.

"Here, there, anywhere," George said. "It doesn't really matter."

"But you're with Angelina?"

"Well…most of the time. She does have to work on occasion."

"Must be hard on her," Ron said dryly.

"Look Ron, I'm sorry. I know what you've done for the shop…and for me. I do appreciate it. And I will make it up to you," George told him confidently.

"You don't have to—"

"I will," George insisted and Ron couldn't help but smile.

"So…you two really aren't together?" he asked George.

George gave him a strange look before his friendly demeanor seemed to vanish. "Not really."

"Well are you or aren't you?"

"We're friends, okay? Is that alright or do I need to ask your permission for who I spend time with?" He spoke with such vehemence that it set Ron back.

"No of course not," Ron said, trying to sound understanding.

"Sorry," said George, looking mollified. "She's been great, Angelina. Amazing really."

"I'm happy for you George," Ron said honestly.

"You know, I can't help but feel like this never would've happened if Fred was still here. I mean other than a shag here or there, we never really needed birds. We had each other. But without him around, I can live for just me, instead of us." George took a sip from his glass and winced. "Christ, that sounds awful, don't it? Like I'm happy he's gone."

Ron thought about how Harry's mother had to have died so he could live, so Riddle could be defeated. And he thought of Dumbledore letting Snape kill him to buy Riddle's trust. And Snape himself who, when it came down to it, had also died for Harry. "No, George. I don't think that makes you horrible. And I think Fred would agree with me."

"It was you who put the idea in my head actually."

"Me?" Ron asked, surprised.

"After our talk at the ball. I just-I realized I couldn't go on like that forever. I mean I knew that already, but after talking to you I realized I couldn't just sit around waiting for someone to find me."

"So you went and found Angelina?"

"I guess…I guess you could say we found each other."

Ron took another drink. He didn't understand how everyone else's relationships seemed so simple, so easy, everything just falling into place.

George spoke, seeming to read Ron's mind.

"Isn't it about time you found _yourself_ a bird, little brother?" Ron felt himself stiffen. He only vaguely remembered telling George what had happened with Hermione months before, and wondered if George recalled it at all. "I know things didn't work out so well with that Lavender Brown character, but you shouldn't have too much trouble finding another if you read that book Fred and I gave you. I always thought that Hermione Granger had a thing for you," he joked. Ron grimaced and began gulping down the rest of his drink very quickly and George winced. "Or maybe not," he hastily amended. "Well…what about asking Verity out? I know she's got a thing for red heads."

Ron spluttered into his glass. "What? You and Verity?"

"God no! What do you take me for Ronniekins? I'm a professional and fraternizing with an employee is completely unethical."

"I work at the shop too!"

"Yeah but no-one would ever accuse you of being 'professional.'"

Ron glowered. "Then how do you know she likes redheads?"

"How do you think she started working for us in the first place?"

"But you just said—"

"Not me. Fred, you dung beetle." When Ron still looked confused, George clarified. "He and Verity went out on a couple dates right when we opened the shop. Turns out they weren't exactly compatible as_ lovers_," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, "but he knew she had a good head on her shoulders and she was always really interested in the stuff we were working on, so they decided to simply change the nature of their relationship."

"So did they ever…?"

George shrugged. "Not that I'm aware."

"And you and she never…" Ron asked gesturing crudely with his hands.

"Not you too! You think I needed Fred's leftovers? When will people realize I was _always_ the better looking one?"

Ron felt the need to point out George's hypocrisy "But you and Angelina—"

"Don't let her hear you calling her Fred's leftovers," George hissed, as if she might be listening in. "And I told you, we're just friends. Besides, that was kid stuff. A million years ago. I mean it was just the Yule Ball."

Right. Kid stuff. School crushes weren't usually the sorts of things that turned into long-term relationships. Maybe if he had gone to the Yule Ball with Hermione, if the two of them had ever gotten a chance to really try things back at Hogwarts, they would've realized it was just a fleeting, temporary sort of thing, gotten it out of their systems. Kid stuff. He didn't even know how long they would've stayed together even if Hermione hadn't gone off and…well…

Had it always simply been a matter of time? Would he and Hermione have fallen apart sooner or later, regardless of whether or not she'd taken up with Nathan, whether or not Ron had accompanied her to look for her parents? She'd certainly given up on him at the first sign of trouble, something he still had trouble believing. He'd been so _certain_, so sure that she was the girl for him, the _only _girl. After finally winning her heart, Ron hadn't even considered the possibility that he could lose it.

As hard as it was to believe, he considered the possibility that things between them could have turned out even _worse _than they were now. What if the same thing had happened a year down the line, five years down the line? A riff like this could've destroyed them completely. Maybe they'd fallen apart so quickly because this way they still had time to save their friendship.

_After all_, Ron admitted, _how often do people end up with the first person they fall for_? He couldn't be certain, but he guessed the odds hadn't been in their favor. It was already enough of a miracle that Harry and Ginny had found each other and come together. Comparing the two relationships, Harry and Ginny's—where everything came as easily as breathing, where no-one ever yelled, where there were never any misunderstandings—and Ron and Hermione's, was it any surprise to see which one had lasted?

"So?" said George, feeling uncomfortable with Ron's lingering silence.

"So what?"

George rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell people we're related. _Verity_, you moron. What do you think?"

"What do _you _think?" Ron shot back, as if wishing George would take the weight of making a decision off his hands.

"Well, she always struck me as the sort that'll try anything, at least once. She's got that 'say yes to life' mentality going for her. Always has. Can't say you couldn't use a bit of that yourself, frankly. You have gotten rather _boring _in the last year."

Ron scrunched up his nose, thinking back to the few short kisses they'd shared. "You really think that sounds like the bird for me?"

George shrugged. "Only way to find the right one is to go looking for her, whether it's Missus Right or just Missus Right-Now. You're the one who taught me that."

Ron sipped his drink pensively. How could he tell George that he'd found Missus Right at the age of eleven, yet things had still turned out all wrong?

_2 May, 1999_

The rest of April seemed to fly by. After his talks with George, Ron's relationship with Verity had progressed to…well, actually hardly anything had changed between them. They hadn't discussed their relationship or potential relationship any further since that first afternoon, nor were they spending any more time together outside of work than they had before.

Nevertheless, things were different. They seemed to share shifts with each other more often, and as they worked, it seemed like they both took every opportunity to touch each other. Some were relatively innocent: the dusting of one's shoulder, their bodies brushing as they slid past each other in the narrow aisles. But at other times, like when she ruffled his hair, or let her soft hand linger over his, Ron felt a charge, a spark of something he knew could ignite into something more if he gave it the chance.

They'd even shared a few more kisses, skiving off to the storeroom for a quick snog now and then. It was exciting. For the most part, Ron tried not to over-think it. He was enjoying it, whatever _it_ was, enjoying the fact that for the moment there were no expectations, no pressure to talk about things or figure out where it was all going. At times he did feel a bit guilty, but strangely his guilt was for Verity and not Hermione. He didn't know if what he was doing was really fair to her, if he was using her the same way he'd used Lavender. It wasn't like he meant to; it's not like he _wanted _to have these lingering feelings for Hermione.

Of course, it didn't help matters that she'd started writing him again; not every day, just two, maybe three times a week. At first he hadn't wanted to read them; he liked having her all the way in Scotland where she couldn't make him more mixed up than he already felt. But he'd quickly given in, and now he looked forward to each new letter, telling him about her visits to the house elves (she swore Winky was finally coming around on the idea of freedom) or Hagrid, expressing her excitement for the latest charms she'd learned in Flitwick's lessons which made him smile fondly, keeping him abreast of how Ginny and the rest of the Quidditch team were doing even though he was sure it bored her silly to write about it. Thankfully, she never asked him to send a reply, nor did she raise uncomfortable subjects he wasn't ready to hear about. She did however include three short lines at the end of every letter. _I miss you. I'm sorry. I love you._

Ron knew sooner or later he'd have to talk to Verity about the Hermione-situation, if not for her sake, then for his own. But right now none of that mattered. Because Ron was looking at a girl he knew he would love for the rest of his life, no matter what happened.

"Not much to look at, is she?" said George.

"She's beautiful and you'd do to shut your mouth George Weasely!" admonished Mrs. Weasley, her eyes never leaving the newborn infant in her arms.

"Yes Mum," George said, though the smile on his face made it rather obvious that he'd gotten exactly what he'd hoped for.

All of the Weasleys minus Charlie and Ginny but plus a Harry and Audrey were taking turns to look in on Victoire, Bill and Fleur's new baby. For how easy her pregnancy had been, Victoire's birth had been anything but. Fleur had gone into labor the previous morning, Bill's Patronus showing up and rousing them from sleep and letting them all know they were on the way to St. Mungo's. But it had taken over thirteen hours of labor before Victoire Weasley decided she was ready to face the world at six-seventeen in the morning after twenty-five hours of labor. All of them had been excited to meet the first Weasley grandchild, and a girl to boot, but none more so than Molly Weasley. From the moment they'd arrived at the hospital, Mrs. Weasley had been a nervous wreck, absolutely inconsolable despite her husband's and sons' best efforts, pacing around the waiting area, imagining every worst possibly scenario. When the healer had finally emerged and announced the delivery of a perfectly-healthy baby girl, she'd pushed past him to see her granddaughter and, according to Bill, had been the first one to hold Victoire, even before the baby's mother.

"I thought Weasleys only had boys," George said, speaking up again as he waggled a finger at Victoire's pudgy red face.

"Guess Ginny must've broken that one for good," Bill said.

"It eez a good theeng too," said Fleur faintly from her bed. "I 'ould not like to try raizing a Weesley boy. Too wild."

"Ginny was worse than the rest of us put together," George said and Ron felt himself nodding his agreement.

"She was not," said Mrs. Weasley, though it seemed like she couldn't muster her old anger while looking at her granddaughter. "Ginny was an angel, just like this little one will be."

As amazing as it was to know that he was an uncle, that Bill had a daughter, seeing his mum like this was even more incredible. It was overwhelming and Ron turned and left the room. George followed him out. "You alright there? Bit 'o dirt in your eye?"

"No!" Ron said, though he was trying very hard not to blink, afraid that he _might_ start crying.

"Why don't you all go home and get some sleep?" said Mr. Weasley, rising from the chair he'd been occupying. "I have a feeling it's going to be a long day for all of us."

Ron roused Harry from where he'd been napping in his chair and they along with George and Percy headed back to the Burrow. Percy immediately jumped in the shower while Harry went off to use the mirror and see if Ginny was up so he could tell her about the baby. Ron considered lying down for a short kip, but he felt strangely exhilarated, not tired in the least.

George seemed to be feeling the same way. "Wanna go visit Freddy?" he asked.

Ron suddenly remembered. It was now the second: ayear ago he'd kissed Hermione for the first time; a year ago Riddle had been defeated; a year ago Harry had died and come back; a year ago Fred had…had….

He agreed and the two set off. They'd made plans to visit Fred's grave as a family later, but if George wanted to go now Ron would go with him.

When they found Fred's headstone, Ron was surprised to find it'd been decorated since his and George's visit a month earlier. There were a few flowers, but also a few rubber chickens that Ron guessed were fake wands the twins had invented, a beater's bat, and even a toilet seat.

"I've been back a few times," George confessed. "Brought Angelina here a couple times. Katie and Alicia too. And Lee and Oliver."

"That's-that's great George," Ron said, hoping it was the truth. He didn't know if it was the best idea for George to be spending so much time here, but at least he wasn't alone when he came. And so far he hadn't experienced any relapses.

George informed Fred that they were all uncles now, saying he'd do his best to make sure little Victoire would follow in their footsteps as a troublemaker. As Ron listened, he kept checking his watch. The shop was supposed to open at nine, but with Verity running the one in Hogsmeade today, he and George were the only ones with keys to the shop in Diagon Alley.

"George, uh, the time," Ron said quietly, hating himself a bit for having to say it.

"Let's forget about the shop today," George said. "Everyone will be at that Ministry commemoration anyway." George was referring to a huge celebration the Ministry was holding in honor of the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Actually it was a duel celebration, happening simultaneously at both the Ministry as well as at Hogwarts. Ron knew Harry had signed up for guard duty at the Ministry today, not necessarily because he wanted to, but because if he was 'working' he couldn't be made to give any kind of speech. Ron had to smile at the thought; Harry would need his Invisibility Cloak to go unnoticed in the crowds expected to show up today.

"What are you going to do?" Ron asked.

"Probably stay here for a bit. Would you mind letting everyone know we're closed for the day?"

"Uh, sure," said Ron, and after a moment's consideration left George alone with Fred. He put a notice on the shop door—not that it mattered judging by how empty the streets of Diagon Alley were, then Apparated to Hogsmeade to tell Verity that she had the day off.

"Hey," Ron said, walking inside.

"What did I do wrong to have to suffer your presence this early?" Verity complained, though he saw that she was smiling.

"George wants to close up. Give everyone a bit of a holiday today."

"Thank Merlin. I've been watching everyone headed toward the castle through the window. Pretty sure we're the only souls in town at the moment." She winked at Ron as she said this, and he gave her a nervous smile.

"So what are you doing today?" she asked. "We could go up to the castle with everyone else, check it out."

For a moment Ron pictured them strolling up to Hogwarts hand in hand only to be met at the gates by Hermione, which he was sure would be an absolute disaster.

"Actually Fleur just had her baby and I was thinking about—"

"Really? Boy or Girl?"

Ron was taken aback by her enthusiasm. "Girl."

Verity squealed excitedly, making him laugh. "Oh Ron. Congratulations," she said, tackling him in a fierce hug.

"Easy there. It's not like it's _my _kid," he said.

"Well I should hope not. Wouldn't want to find out you've been two-timing me Weasley."

"Er of course not," Ron said, his thoughts going back to Hermione.

Verity pinched him on the arm. "Relax Ron. I'm only kidding."  
>"I know," Ron said with a thin smile.<p>

"Oh, an uncle!" said Verity. "I haven't got any nieces or nephews yet. You're really lucky." Ron laughed again. Apparently every woman loved babies, even ones like Verity. And he wondered what Hermione's reaction would be when Ginny told her.

"Well go on," said Verity. "I'll lock up. I don't want to keep you. You should get over to St. Mungo's. Make sure you congratulate your family for me."

Ron agreed and left. Arriving back at St. Mungo's, he found both Fleur and his mum fast asleep and Bill, looking dead on his feet, holding little Victoire.

"Hey," said Ron.

"Skiving off work?" asked Bill.

"George's idea. Who am I to complain?"

"Fair enough," said Bill. "Want to hold her?"

Ron felt a bit wary. Teddy was the only other baby he'd ever held and he'd been at least twice Victoire's size the first time Ron held him. But what kind of uncle would he be if he said no?

He held out his arms and Bill passed his daughter to Ron, making sure Ron knew to mind her head. He looked down at the tiny creature in his arms, her little fingers barely the size of eyelashes, so soft, so fragile, so utterly—

"Incredible, isn't she?" said Bill, beaming.

"Yeah, she is," said Ron reverently. And when he looked at his brother, as on Bill's wedding day, he could see no evidence that he'd ever met Fenrir Greyback. "How's Mum been?" Ron asked.

"Same as always."

"And by that you mean…?"

Bill's broad grin grew impossibly wider. "I mean _same as always_."

Ron couldn't help but look over at his mother, sleeping in a chair, and smile as well. "Bet she's driving Fleur crazy."

"I think she understands. And at the end of the day, she knows Victoire's hers."

"Let's hope Mum remembers that too. I have a feeling this one's going to be the daughter Mum always wanted."

"What about Ginny?"

Ron shot his brother a wry look. "Think my point stands."

Bill laughed, but quickly muffled himself as he saw Fleur roll over. "Fair enough."

"Can't believe how quiet she is," said Ron. "Aren't babies supposed to cry?"

"Don't jinx it," said Bill. "I'm hoping she doesn't make a peep until she's ready for her first word."

Little Victoire hiccupped and both men fell silent, inwardly glad that no one else could see them swooning over a baby. But a moment later came the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway outside the room. Bill took a step toward the door but Ron grabbed his shoulder and passed Victoire to him. "I'll check it out. You stay here." He opened the door and stepped out into the hall. "What's going on?" he shouted at a passing healer who ignored him. "Oi," he said, grabbing the next one to try and run past him. "What's going on?" he demanded, doing his best to sound authoritative.

"We're not sure," said the healer, "but apparently there are Inferi in the hospital."

Ron felt his blood turn to ice, and his grip loosened on the healer's robes, who shook him off and resumed his trek down the hall. Ron pulled out his wand and ducked back inside the room to warn Bill. He would've preferred telling Bill to get out of there completely, but he knew Fleur was currently in no condition to Apparate.

"Get them up and give her to Fleur and make sure you don't let anyone or anything inside this room," he told Bill.

"What about you?"

"I'm going to help."

He slipped back out and quickly cast _Colloportus _and _Protego Totalum _to lock and shield the room before taking off after the sound of distant footsteps. Ron shouted at patients and visitors as he past, telling them to get back in their rooms. It occurred to him that with the dual Commemorations, security at St. Mungo's was probably at an all-time low.

He caught up to the healer he'd questioned earlier. "Where are they?" Ron asked.

The healer's answer seemed immediately obvious as soon as he said it. "The morgue."

Of course. It would be an Inferi buffet down there. The question was who had created them, and why.

While the healers waited for the lift, Ron took the stairs, jumping down whole flights at a time in his rush to head off the Inferi before they entered the hospital proper. Unfortunately he was still too late as he entered the lobby and found a wizard and two witches doing their best to fight off a swarm of the swaying corpses with ineffective Severing Charms.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Ron shouted, pointing at one of the witches as Inferi swarmed over her, levitating her out of their clutches to safety. "Don't bother with Severing Charms!" he shouted. "They're only vulnerable to fire!"

Unfortunately, Ron only knew two fire spells and he doubted either of them packed the punch he needed. "_Incendio_!" he shouted, setting the nearest creature on fire. "_Incendio_!_ Incendio_!" he continued, casting the spell in all directions as more and more creatures emerged. He wondered how many more there could possibly be. How many bodies could the hospital store? How long did they keep them before sending them off to be buried?

In the back of his mind, Ron knew that just moments before these monsters had been the bodies of loved ones, of friends and family to people, people who might still be in St. Mungo's at this very moment. And he wondered what he would do if one of them had been Fred. Or Lupin or Tonks or Moody or Sirius.

But there was no time for such thoughts. Even as reinforcements showed up to help them, Ron knew they were losing, were slowly being pushed back toward the stairwell.

A bell went off in Ron's head. "Is there anyone else on this floor?" he shouted to a sandy-haired healer.

"No!" he shouted back. "We've evacuated everyone either out of the hospital or to a higher floor!"

"And this stairwell and the lift are the only ways up?"

"Yeah!"

_Excellent, _Ron thought, setting his plan into motion. The only question was whether the Inferi would be smart enough to figure out how to use the lift. Unfortunately, he had to take that risk. "Everyone! Back to the stairwell!"

Slowly the fighters which had swelled to seven backed into the stairs, Ron and the sandy-haired wizard lingering to cover the others, trying to stall the Inferi as long as possible. A time or two, the foul creatures actually managed to lay their dead hands on Ron but both times he managed to free himself before they overwhelmed him. Finally they had all backed into the stairwell.

"We're sitting ducks in here!" shouted a witch.

"No!" Ron called back, quickly shutting the door and casting _Colloportus _to buy them a few seconds while he explained his plan. "They're the ones who're bottled up now. That door's only wide enough to let one or two through at a time. This way we can fight them one-on-one rather than trying to deal with them coming at us from all sides."

Of course, Ron knew this meant there would only be room for two of _them _to attack the Inferi at a time as well, because those in the back would risk hitting those fighting in front.

"What's your name?" Ron asked the sandy-haired wizard.

"Dick."

"Alright Dick. You know how to cast _Immobulus_?"

"Ye-yes?"

"Okay. Any second now, those fuckers are going to break through that door. When they do I need you to slow them down with _Immobulus_ so I can take them out with _Incendio_. Think you can do that?"

Dick seemed like he wanted to say no, but nodded his head anyway, which was enough for Ron. And not a moment later, the door collapsed and the Inferi began pushing their way through, scrabbling past each other to try and reach the humans first.

"_Immobulus!_" Dick shouted. "_Immobulus! Immobulus_!"

Each time he saw an Inferi start to slow, Ron fired off an _Incendio_ at the creature. Unfortunately, he'd overlooked one flaw in his plan; the monsters seemed to be at least mildly intelligent as they soon learned to use the burnt corpses as shields to block their spells and were slowly gaining headway, pushing Ron's group further up the stairs. At this rate, he knew they'd soon reach the first floor landing, something he could not allow as it would put all the patients and visitors at risk. He had to do something more. If only he knew how to use Fiendfyre, or the spell Harry said Dumbledore had used in the Horcrux cave. _Incendio _just wasn't strong enough for what Ron needed.

Quickly improvising, Ron cast the only other fire spell he knew, shooting Bluebell Flames at the nearest creatures, following with hover charms, allowing Ron to manipulate them and float them over the defensive wall of burnt Inferi to those still pushing forward. Finally he cast _Engorgio, _enlarging them to the point that they could do some serious damage.

Ron's plan was working, but it wasn't working fast enough. There were just too many to handle at once, and the more he killed, the more he built up the defenses for those that remained. And as his back bumped into the door leading to the first floor hall, Ron dug in his figurative heels, deciding he wouldn't budge until all the Inferi were gone…or his corpse had joined them.

Ron closed his eyes, picturing the family somewhere above him that he needed to protect: his Mum and Bill, Fleur and little Victoire. He thought of Harry, knowing how guilty he would feel when he learned he'd been at the stupid Commemoration while St. Mungo's was attacked. He thought of George, still sitting beside Fred's headstone. Would his be joining it after today?

_No,_ Ron thought. _I didn't survive a war to go down to some fucking corpses!_

Ron eyes opened, his blue orbs shining with unnatural light and he shot another of the Bluebell Flames out of the end of his wand. But this time there was no need for an Engorgement Charm. The fire that erupted was a blazing inferno, burning so hot that the blue light was nearly white. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" Ron bellowed, sending the flames roaring down the staircase, incinerating the army of Inferi as it swept up and over them.

Looking down Ron saw the spell had consumed not only the dark creatures but the staircase itself. He dropped to his knees, exhausted. That spell had been the most powerful piece of magic he'd ever performed. Hell, he hadn't known he was even _capable _of such magic. In fact, Ron could feel his blood boiling underneath his skin, as if he too were on fire.

"Blimey!" said one of the healers from somewhere behind him.

"Fucking hell!" said another.

"You-you okay?" said one, clapping Ron on his shoulder, causing Ron to wince and twist away; even that light touch had pained him. He turned and saw it was Dick. "Are you okay?" he asked Ron again.

"M'fine," Ron said. "Just-just fine."

"Come on," he said, helping Ron to stand, ignoring Ron's sharp intake of breath at being touched. "Let's find you a bed and get you checked out."

"No! I need…I need to check on my brother. His wife…just had a baby. She…" Ron trailed off. Something wasn't right. Even though the Inferi were gone, he didn't feel as if the danger had lifted.

Ron's mind started racing again. The Inferi had proven themselves smarter than anticipated by using their kin as shields from their spells. _Maybe they did figure out the lift. Maybe they're on their way up to Bill and Mum right now. Maybe they're already there…_

Ron shoved Dick off him and started up the stairs, stumbling several times in his weakened state. Finally making it to the maternity hall, Ron burst through a door, coming upon two men dressed in long dark robes, two men that were frighteningly familiar.

"Lestrange!" Ron bellowed stupidly, giving himself away. The two men turned from the rooms they'd been peering into to look at him, immediately sending blasts of emerald-green light in his direction, causing Ron to duck back behind the door for cover. "Idiot!" he scolded himself. He'd had the element of surprise and blown his chance to take out one or even both of them before they knew he was there. Surely they'd been the ones to create the Inferi. But why?

_As a distraction? But hat are they after? What were they looking for? Surely it's not a coincidence they're in THIS hall of all places._

Ron shouted down the staircase; none of the healers had followed him, and Ron didn't exactly like his chances of taking both Lestrange brothers on single-handed. But he knew he didn't have time to wait. Peeking out from around the door he fired off a quick Stunning Spell before ducking back under their returned fire. Each bit of magic he performed seemed more draining than ever before, as if he were trying to perform them in the presence of a Dementor. His hands dived into his pockets, desperate to see if he had anything else that might help him. All he came up with was the useless broken Deluminator—which he'd kept on his person at all times since his nightmares over Easter out of mere habit—and, more helpfully, a small bit of Instant Darkness Powder.

Ron dived out into the hall again and flung the powder, releasing the impenetrable black smoke which quickly filled the hall, blinding not only the Lestranges, but Ron as well. Unfortunately, this didn't seem to bother his enemies too much as they began sending curses blindly in his direction, and he felt the heat of their invisible spells as they flew past his face. He needed more of a distraction, one that would not only draw their attention, but get them to reveal their location. He thought back and remembered Cedric Diggory Transfiguring a dog out of a rock in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament to distract his dragon. Unfortunately Ron had nothing to Transfigure, which meant he would have to Conjure something. And Ron was modest enough to know that a dog was a bit beyond him. But maybe not…

"_Avis,_" Ron whispered, summoning a flock of whistling blue canaries, which took off down the smoky hall, giving off a faint blue glow in the inky darkness. As anticipated, the Lestranges began firing curses at the twittering birds and Ron could see their spells as they approached the strangely ethereal creature, occasionally hitting their mark and disintegrating Ron's canaries.

Ron's eyes watched carefully, trying to judge the angle of each curse to figure out where it was coming from. "_Stupefy!_" Ron shouted again, cheering inwardly as he heard the familiar thud of a body hitting the floor. Unfortunately, Ron felt his right shoulder fly back as he was hit with returning fire from the remaining Lestrange brother. Apparently Ron's strategy of getting the enemy to reveal their location worked both ways. He slumped to the floor and before he managed to gather himself, he was hit again, this time by the Cruciatus.

It was pain, pain beyond reason, pain beyond comprehension. The earlier burning in his veins felt like nothing compared to _this_, and Ron distantly wondered how Hermione had managed to survive the curse repeatedly. He raised his want to try and cast a Shield Charm, but was hit again, and felt the hall slip away, fading into black.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The title of this chapter comes from the song "Another Day Full of Dread" by Bonnie 'Prince' Billy off his album _I See a Darkness_.

Well that was only my third attempt at an 'action' scene, and the first time I've written one involving weapons other than knives, so I hope it went okay. As for the Verity stuff, I know it'll upset some people while others will be cheering that they should've done more. Don't know what else I can about it except I have a plan.

As for Victoire, I know the usual assumption is that she was born in 2000 so she would be going in to her seventh year in the epilogue, but nowhere is it stated that she didn't just come along to see her siblings and cousins off. And personally, I think I'd find it a bit strange for her to be named 'Victoire' after the Battle on the second anniversary. Hope people don't quibble with that decision too much. I suppose I didn't need to go against the grain, but hey, it worked.


	25. CH24: Even In My Strongest Moments

**A/N: **Wow, reviews for the chapter were amazing. The best in ages, so thanks to **Hilary, harrylovesginny, KarateKid, MsEan,Mlgregg5, ack24, Sandrinha, Athenais777, milan4ever, hptk, Beasley, King's Ransom, ObsessedRHShipper, EmD23, celticscorpion, DeLoreanDMC-12, Bellatrix, Fred, Anon, heronlove, Molly Weasley kicks arse, Nia, HalfASlug, chosen1, Anonymous, Anne Mary Ellen, HilaryWeasley, ann, ShePotter, Michael Ho, placebo13, faultybooster, gemaswesome, writemealetter, newyearzgirl18, selene86, riverina, **and **tabitoo. **I don't know what gets me more excited: seeing the names of faithful readers chapter after chapter or seeing new names that have just picked up the story or finally started reviewing. I love you all.

As I warned you guys, this chapter is also set in _Deathly Hallows_. It's probably the least important chapter in the entire fic from a plot standpoint, but in my mind it's essential as far as character development. Plus it has my favorite scene of this entire fic.

A tip of my hat to **superfan24** for her awesome beta work. I'd feel bad over all the stuff I pile on your plate, but you're just SO DAMN GOOD at it. That being said, apologies to those of you who didn't get your 'Apart' update this week. The chapter hasn't been beta'd yet and I don't want to put it up as I need to be very careful with such a delicate storyline. But I promise you'll get a new chapter next Wednesday.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24: Even In My Strongest Moments<strong>

_2 September, 1997_

"Can you feel it, though?" Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he clenched his fist around the locket.

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry and he watched understanding spread across Harry's face. He felt it too, felt that wicked heart beating, felt in reverberate in his very bones. Yet hard as he tried, he couldn't look away, even when Harry slipped it beneath his shirt.

…

"Are you alright Harry?" Hermione asked, coming back from her shift keeping watch as Harry left the tent to take her place.

Ron looked at her questioningly. She didn't even notice her mistake, didn't notice she'd called him Harry by accident. And before answering, Ron wondered how many time Hermione has asked the question 'Are you alright _Harry_?' for it to become so routine that she didn't even think before saying it.

"Been better," Ron admitted, trying to smile. The truth was he felt feverish, chills running through his body. He wasn't sure if it was the blood loss or the exhaustion but he seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness; he didn't even know if it had been days or just a few hours since they'd left the Ministry.

Hermione came and sat down on the edge of his bunk and he tried to sit up to look at her properly.

"Hush," she told him, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him to lie down again. "You really should try to keep still." Ron's stomach growled loudly.

"Sorry," he said weakly, rather embarrassed. He'd nearly lost an arm and all of them had barely escaped with their lives…and the locket, yet here he was, food his foremost concern.

"You don't have to apologize for being hungry," she told him, sounding amused at his one-track mind.

"Don't suppose we've got any of those steak-and-kidney pies Kreature was fixing for us?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh. Oh, Ron I didn't-I didn't think to pack-I mean I wasn't planning on us not going back to Grimmauld Place, so I didn't bring any food."

Ron saw Hermione's face fall. "Hey," he said consolingly. "No worries. I wasn't really hungry anyway." His stomach growled again.

"_Obviously_," she said, though there was no humor in her tone.

"Trust you to think of everything except food. At least I know you packed enough books. Maybe we can eat those?" he looked at her, hoping his joke would lighten her disappointment.

Unfortunately, it seemed his words had the opposite effect as Hermione looked ready to break into tears in another moment.

"Hey," he said. "I didn't mean it. I was joking," he tried lamely. "_Stupid_," he scolded himself for being tactless.

"No, you're right," Hermione sniffed. "I'm an idiot. I did plan things in case we couldn't go back to Grimmauld Place and yet I forgot something as essential as food."

"Yeah, but you did all this," Ron said, waving his good arm around the tent. "Harry and I didn't even think that much."

"But I was the one who got caught, who brought Yaxley with us. I was the one who nearly-I mean you're arm…I'm so sorry Ron," she said despairingly.

He didn't know what words would comfort her. He was almost certainly there weren't any, so instead he reached out a hand and placed it over hers, squeezing gently.

"Maybe we can summon Kreature and he can bring us the things we're missing. I bet—"

"Actually, we decided it's too risky. If Yaxley got inside Grimmauld place, he might have someone watching Kreature, hoping we summon him, so they can follow along by Side-Along."

_When did we decide that?_ Ron wondered, trying to remember the conversation. He realized after a moment she'd meant she and Harry had been the ones to decide while he'd been passed out.

"Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find something. My dad took us all fishing once. Wanted to show us the Muggle-way, but I think Bill was the only one who caught anything and I'm pretty sure he used a Summoning Charm."

Hermione laughed wetly. "I would've liked to see that." They looked at each other in silence for a moment. "You should really try to sleep."

"You look tuckered out yourself."

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

For some reason, Ron didn't believe her.

…

Ron pushed his plate of stewed mushrooms away in disgust after a few mouthfuls, somehow feeling sicker and hungrier that before. His eye caught Hermione who looked hurt and seemed as if she wanted to say something but thankfully kept her mouth shut. Ron lay back down, trying to ignore the feeling that his stomach was eating him from the inside-out.

_3 September, 1997_

"So you're telling me we still haven't got any food?"

"Shut up, Ron," snapped Hermione. "Harry, what happened? Why do you think you couldn't make your Patronus? You managed perfectly yesterday!"

"I don't know."

He sat low in one of Perkins's old armchairs, looking humiliated and defeated, the same way he had that first time he'd collapsed on the way to Hogwarts before third year.

Ron kicked a chair leg. Hermione let out an aggravated sigh.

"What?" he snarled at Hermione. "I'm starving! All I've had since I bled half to death is a couple of toadstools!"

"You go and fight your way through the Dementors, then," said Harry, stung.

"I would, but my arm's in a sling, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"That's convenient."

"And what's that supposed to—"

"Of course!" cried Hermione. "Harry, give me the locket! Come on," she said impatiently, snapping her fingers to hurry him up, "the Horcrux, Harry, you're still wearing it!"

Harry took it off and handed it over to Hermione.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yea, loads better!"

"Harry," Hermione said, crouching so her face was level with his, "you don't think you've been possessed, do you?"

Ron shuddered involuntarily, unnoticed by the other two, his mind replaying Harry's dreams from fifth year and nightmarish images of Ginny possessed by Riddle's diary.

"What? No!" Harry protested vigorously.

Hermione suggested they put it away for safekeeping, an idea Ron would've liked to agree with vigorously, but he felt faint when he tried to speak. Not that it would've mattered. Harry insisted they needed to go on wearing the thing, and Hermione decided they'd each take it in turns before slipping it around her own neck, which brought them back to the original issue.

"Great," said Ron irritably, "and now we've sorted that out, can we please get some food?"

_4 September, 1997_

"Come on, Hermione. Give it here."

"Ron, I really don't think you should. You're still healing."

Why was she so hesitant to give it to him? Did she think he couldn't handle it? That he wouldn't keep it safe? Did she only trust herself and Harry with the locket?

"I can do it as well as you two can," he snarled, thrusting his fist out expectantly before she finally handed it over. He threw it around his neck violently. "Anything else?" he growled.

Hermione looked at him pityingly. "No," she said softly. "Nothing."

…

"What are you doing?"

Hermione looked at him, surprised. "I need to change your bandages."

Delicately, she took his arm out of the sling and unwound the wrappings, washing the wound with a warm cloth before replacing them with fresh ones, ones that weren't crusted with blood.

"How is it?" she asked. "Can you move it any better than yesterday?"  
>"What do <em>you<em> think?" Ron said.

"Well can you or can't you?"

"No, I bloody well can't, okay? Fuck I almost lost my _arm_ Hermione, give me a break."

"Ron, I didn't mean—"

"And I don't need your _pity_, either. Not going to make me heal any faster."  
>"I was only trying—"<p>

"Yeah, well don't bother," he said, rolling over to turn his back on her, wincing as pain shot through his arm as he did. After a moment, he felt her get up, once again leaving him alone.

_6 September, 1997_

"Maybe we shouldn't wear it," Ron said, speaking up bravely as Hermione slammed a giant tome shut.

"What?" she snapped, making him flinch.

"I just-the locket. Maybe we shouldn't wear it? I mean I don't think it's really helping—"

"You heard Harry. We need to keep it safe."

"So we put it in your bag and don't let it out of our sight. I think you had the right idea."

She glared at him. "Who cares what I think?" she shouts, taking off the locket and throwing it at him, hitting him in the stomach before marching out of the tent, leaving Ron looking after her, confused.

_I care_, Ron thought as he slipped the Horcrux around his neck. _I care_.

_8 September, 1997_

Ron woke, feeling the mattress shift and groan and a warm body press against his own. "Hermione?" Ron whispered into the black. He certainly hoped it was Hermione and not Harry that had just climbed into his bunk. _Certainly feels like her_, he realized, feeling the contrast between the softness of her breasts pressing against him and the hardness of the locket nestled between them. "Hermione?" he whispered again when she didn't answer.

_Why's she so quiet? _he wondered. Had she heard something outside? Or been woken by a bad dream? As he pondered what had brought her to his bed, or if this was even real and not a dream, he felt a creeping, tingling sensation below his shirt, just above the waistband of his shorts.

Hermione's soft fingers were walking along his skin, sending jolts of excitement through Ron, straight to his cock. He blushed, knowing she had to feel his hard on.

"Hermio—" Ron broke off as Hermione's fingers dug into his hip, pulling him closer while swinging a leg across him. His eyes widened when he felt something damn come into contact with his thing. But that was nothing compared to what happened next.

Hermione started…_rocking_ herself against his leg, rubbing her center against him over and over, letting out whimpers of pleasure.

He had to be dreaming. There was no way Hermione Granger was using him as her own personal…_scratching post_.

"Ungh…oh…oh," Hermione gasped, panting breathlessly as she rubbed her delicious center up and down his thigh.

"Fuck," Ron mumbled. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up, and his undamaged arm reached around to grab the back of her pajamas, pulling her hard against his leg and pushing against her to give her the friction she sought.

"Oh…oh…ah…" She was moving faster, and he could feel the heat between her legs building.

And then, with three hard thrusts it was over, far too soon for Ron's liking. Her legs squeezed around his for a moment and he felt her come undone and he wondered if this would be the start of their moment.

But then her hands were on his chest, pushing him away, practically scrambling to get out of his bunk as soon as possible. They hadn't even kissed, hadn't even spoken and now she was gone.

_She got what she needed_, he realized. _At least I could do that much for her_, he remembered thinking before drifting off, still unsure whether he hadn't imagined the whole thing or if it was just a trick stemming from his fever.

_11 September, 1997_

Ron looked at Harry, the two of them sitting alone in the tent while Hermione was out scrounging for food. Over the last week, he'd realized something. When he saw Harry, he couldn't see his best friend anymore and a part of Ron hated himself for it.

He remembered, during their fight fourth year, Hermione telling him how special he was, how much it meant to Harry that he saw _The Boy Who Lived_ as just another boy, someone who just needed a friend. And right now, with the locket around Harry's neck, he knew they needed that bond more than ever.

But Ron needed something more. For now, he _has to _see Harry as The Chosen One, because he has to save them all. He needs to look at Harry and see the hero that will win the war before anymore of his family are hurt, before they lose anymore friends. He needs Harry to defeat the Dark Lord before the Death Eaters find them, find Hermione…

"So where next?" Ron asked, hoping Harry would have an answer. But Harry remained silent. He was lost; as lost as Ron himself.

When Hermione returned a moment later, saving Harry from having to come up with an answer, Ron closed his eyes.

_Maybe if he gets us all killed, maybe then everyone will realize Harry Potter isn't so great after all,_ he thought.

_14 September, 1997_

Feeling drowsy, Ron checked his watch, noticing his twelve hours with the locket were up, and sighed gratefully. He walked inside the tent, leaving his post on watch to pass it to Harry, sleeping in his bunk.

"Harry. Psst, Harry," Ron said, quietly, trying to rouse his friend. He tried again, a little louder. Still no response. He shook Harry, even pinched his arm and still Harry didn't wake. Ron grew frustrated. Harry had always been a light sleeper; was he just pretending to be asleep so he didn't have to take the locket? Ron knew getting a good night's sleep while wearing the locket was all but impossible, but Harry was the one who insisted they wear it in the first place. It wasn't Ron's fault that Harry's turn fell right while he was off in dreamland.

"Oi! Harry! Wake up you tosspot!" Ron shouted.

"Ron! Shut up!" hissed Hermione, who'd obviously been disturbed by his shouting. "What are you doing in here, anyway?" she scolded. "You're supposed to be keeping watch."

"It's Harry's turn for the locket, but he won't wake up," Ron whined.

"He's probably exhausted. Just give it to him in the morning."

Ron marched back outside the tent and took up his post once again. He'd been wearing the locket for twelve hours now, and morning was still five more away. He tried to keep his eyes open, but eventually fell into nightmares of giant spiders, Dementors, glowing red eyes, and Hermione, crumpling to the floor as she was hit by a curse.

He woke in the morning to Hermione swatting him as she shrieked at him for falling asleep during his shift.

_19 September, 1997_

Ron noticed Hermione had started avoiding him. Not all the time, just during his turns with the locket, and usually for an hour or two after he'd passed it to Harry. He knew this, knew he was acting like a grouchy git, griping about anything and everything. He knew he was making things worse. But for some reason, he couldn't stop.

It didn't help that Hermione started to avoid both of them during her turns with the locket either. Between her time wearing the Horcrux, Ron's time wearing the Horcrux and the time he needed for his mind and emotions to level out again, they only had a few hours left to spend together each day where they didn't want to rip each other's throats out. And he treasured those moments where things between them felt like they had at the end of last term, on the night of Bill's wedding, during their time at Grimmauld Place.

Until Harry went and ruined them. It seemed like he was always there, walking in on them, breaking their moments of peace when he managed to coax a laugh out of Hermione. It was almost as if…as if Harry didn't like them spending time alone together, didn't want him to be alone with Hermione. Harry certainly didn't seem to have any problem spending time with her himself, the way they stayed up at night, talking uselessly.

Could Harry…did he have…could he want…?

_Nah, _Ron thought. _Harry doesn't see Hermione like that. He's got Ginny, or will once we finish getting rid of the Horcruxes. _

That night, Ron and Hermione sat together, their foreheads pressed against one-another, so close that he could smell the toothpaste on her breath every time she opened her mouth. She was wearing the earrings he'd bought her, the one's he'd given her to wear before the wedding. It was her birthday, and he wished there was something more he could do to make the day a happy one for her, but Ron stilly felt like the lucky one to share the moment with her, as he gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, trying to work up the nerve to _tell_ her, maybe even kiss her…

But when Harry burst in on them, running the moment and causing them both to jump away from one-another, he got the feeling that Harry's interruptions _weren't_ exactly accidents.

_22 September, 1997_

Hermione walked around, casting the usual protective enchantments over the campsite they'd chosen for the day, while Harry began rummaging around in Hermione's beaded bag, pulling out the tent and other supplies. Ron walked over and sat down on a large boulder.

After a few minutes of working trying to erect the tent, Harry stopped, wiped the sweat off his brow, and looked over at Ron.

"You wanna help?" he asked threateningly.

"Love to mate, but…" Ron held up his injured arm.

"Don't think it'd kill you to try." Harry said this with a strange smile on his face, his gaze on something far away, as if he were daydreaming about something rather pleasant.

Ron grumbled, but went over to try and help. But his efforts only seemed to make the situation worse, his weak grip causing him to drop poles by accident that caused Harry to shout in frustration as the tent collapsed.

"Can't you do anything?" Harry shot venomously

"I _told _you! It's my arm!" Ron shouted back.

"Nice excuse. Good of you to milk it for all it's worth."

"You think I like having my arm attached to me by a _thread_?" Ron exclaimed.

"Stop exaggerating," Harry said, moving around the tent to Ron and grabbing his injured arm. "It's been weeks!"

"_Weeks? _Who's exaggerating now?"

"Oh shut it. I'm sure you're fine by—" he'd started yanking Ron's arm around, turning it in its socket until Ron let out a howl of pain, jerking it away from Harry.

"_Fuck _Harry! Why would you do that?"

He expected Harry to apologize, or at least look sorry for hurting him, but instead Harry just glowered, his mouth snarling as he moved to retort when Hermione moved to join them. Ron felt relieved, sure Hermione would break up the squabble like she had at Grimmauld Place before it got any more out of hand.

"Oh, get out of the way, Ron, you'll hurt yourself. Here, Harry. I'll help you finish," she said.

Ron's mouth fell open in astonishment, not that the other two noticed as they started to work together. He walked back to his boulder, scuffing his shoes in the dirt, kicking up pebbles as he walked. She hadn't even asked him if he was alright after Harry tried pulling his arm off, hadn't been concerned for him in the least, except to get him out of the way.

He sat there, long after the tent was up and the other two had gone inside. Hermione eventually emerged and walked over to him and he saw she had taken the locket from Harry.

"What are you still doing out here?" she asked.

"Nothing," Ron said bitterly.

"Harry didn't mean to. With your arm earlier, I mean. It's only because he was wearing the locket."

She seemed to be making a lot of excuses for Harry these days. "And what was your excuse?" Ron asked her.

She looked taken aback for a moment before her eyes darkened and her features turned to stone. "I'm going to look for food," she said, ignoring his question. "If you're going to stay out here sulking, you might as well keep a watch on the tent." And with that, she strode off.

_27 September, 1997_

"I'm telling you, if there was one place Vol—"

"Oi!" Ron protested quickly

"YOU-KNOW-WHO, then!" Harry exploded "If there was one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!"

"Oh, come on," Ron said skeptically. "His _school_?"

"Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special: it meant everything to him, and even after he left—"

"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" Ron asked, shifting the locket on his neck, which seemed to be irritating his skin where the cold metal touched him.

"You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left," said Hermione.

"That's right," said Harry.

"And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"But he didn't get the job, did he?" said Hermione, sounding triumphant. "So he never got the chance to find a founder's object there and hide it in the school!"

"Okay, then," said Harry, defeated. "Forget Hogwarts." He stood and left the other two sitting in the tent.

"Bit clueless, isn't he?" Ron said derisively, turning to Hermione the moment Harry was out of earshot.

She sighed, and Ron expected her to start arguing with him again, coming to Harry's defense the way she seemed to be doing more and more frequently these days, though in truth he knew she had always taken Harry's side over his. So her actual words surprised him.

"I did think he had a bit more to go on," admitted Hermione. "I was sure Dumbledore would have told him exactly where to start looking. But he doesn't seem to know any more than we do."

Strangely, Ron's first inclination was to defend Harry. He knew a part of him always believed Harry, was the one who had full confidence in him. He'd truly believed Harry could win the Triwizard back in fourth year, just as he was never surprised to hear Harry had escaped from the Dark Lord's clutches yet again. He knew Harry appreciated his support, counted on it, even needed it at times. But now…now that he saw Hermione was beginning to doubt Harry, he didn't want to tell her off. If anything, he wanted to encourage those doubts, feed them.

"So what do we do?" Ron asked her. "If we can't count on Harry?"

Hermione looked at him. "I guess we have to depend on ourselves."

Ron nodded, and when she turned away, a dark grin spread across his face, his eyes showing just a glint of red.

_1 October, 1997_

Ron prodded the unappealing lump of charred fish on his plate with a fork, groaning exaggeratedly to make sure the other two knew that even if he _was _hungry enough to stomach this shite, he was _not _happy about it.

Hermione tutted, but said nothing. Harry made no noise, simply sulking in a corner of the tent away from the other two.

Ron took a bite and made a gagging noise as he choked it down. "Is this all we've got?" he asked.

"Well maybe if you'd went and helped Harry with your _wondrous _fishing ability you're always bragging about," snapped Hermione, "we'd have more than one to split between us."

"And how am I supposed to help with my arm like this?" Ron complained.

"Yes, because it's _so_ taxing to wave a wand around."

"Well, what about you then?"

"I _cooked _it, didn't I? What did _you _do to help?"

Ron pulled at the locket's chain absentmindedly, and only _just _managed to bite back his comment about how no one could consider _this _cooking.

_Burnt it to a crisp more like,_ he thought, scraping his fork across the plate to ensure he got every last bit of the disgusting mess. Despite his words a few weeks ago, he _was _starting to blame Hermione for the loss of Grimmauld Place, for his splinching, for not having thought to take food with them in case they couldn't go back, for not figuring where the next Horcrux was located, for siding with Harry and making them wear this stupid locket all the time.

She was the genius after all. Why hadn't she figured it out yet like she did with everything else?

He got up and threw his plate into the sink before walking over to his bunk and climbing in.

"I suppose I'll just _clean up _your mess as well, shall I?" spat Hermione. "You think you'd get tired of treating me like I'm your mother."

Ron pulled his blankets over his head, ignoring her.

_4 October, 1997_

Ron sat there, listening to Harry and Hermione. They'd visited the Muggle orphanage where the Dark Lord had been raised earlier that day at Hermione's insistence, which had turned out to be another dead end. And now they were back at their usual routine of talking in circles, listing the same familiar list of possibilities; Hogwarts, Borgin and Burkes, Albania.

"Shouldn't be much trouble to search the whole country," said Ron sarcastically, finding the idea no less ridiculous than the last time it'd been raised.

The two of them ignored him, same as always. They never seemed to include him in these conversations, never asking his opinion, like they knew he wouldn't have any ideas of his own. It was almost like they expected him to feel _grateful_ just be allowed to listen to them prattle on and on.

"Yeah, real treat this is," Ron muttered to himself. "_Just _like a holiday."

They broke off at his grumblings, but plowed onward, continuing to ignore his gripes. Ron's hand fiddled with the locket, running his fingers over the smooth surface, thinking.

The diary had been a Horcrux and it had been left with Lucious Malfoy. What if the Dark Lord had left another Horcrux to another of his most-trusted servants. _But who?_

Obviously Wormtail was out. There was no way he'd managed to hold on to it during the twelve years he'd spent posing as Scabbers. Which left Lestrange…and Snape. Maybe Harry _was_ on to something when he thought there was a Horcrux at Hogwarts. Maybe the Dark Lord hadn't had the chance to hide one there himself, but had gotten Snape to do it for him. And what of Bellatrix? Where would she hide hers? Did she have a manor somewhere like Grimmauld Place, hidden by enchantments?

The longer he thought on it, the more excited Ron grew, sure he was on to something. He gathered his thoughts, planning to tell Harry and Hermione when he heard it: a voice, so much like his own, yet so different, whispering to him.

_Foolish boy. Do you really think you're clever enough to come up with an idea, capable of outthinking like the Dark Lord? Surely you know your friends would have already thought of this possibility by now and dismissed it, finding some flaw in the plan. You know how much cleverer they are, how brilliant, compared to you. What makes you think they'd even listen to us if we told them? _

As quickly as it had come, Ron's hope vanished. _Of course_, he thought bitterly, recognizing the truth in those words. _Stupid idea. They'd probably just laugh at me if I told them. After all, it's not like they think I'm capable of coming up with an idea. They didn't even ask me in the first place._

By the time Ron woke in the morning and passed the locket to Harry, he'd forgotten his idea entirely.

_8 October, 1997_

Ron stood barefoot in a creek bed, the sun shining down, warming his skin. He couldn't help but smile. He felt wonderful, better than he had in ages. He was finally getting some strength back in his arm, and they'd managed to swipe a decent meal from a farmhouse the night before, including a rhubarb custard pie.

He heard a crackle of branches and turned to see Hermione walking toward him and his grin widened, his whole face lighting up at the site of her. She looked gorgeous, the morning sunlight catching in her hair. He's always loved the look of her in the morning; it was the only time he knew he could catch her with her guard down. As she approached he felt the pull to _finally_ speak his mind.

_I'm going to tell her_, he thought excitedly. He couldn't stand the secrets, not for a moment longer. He felt like he absolutely _had _to kiss her, right there, had tell her he loved her.

Ron opened his mouth as she came to a stop in front of him, but before he could get the words out, Hermione shoved the locket at him. "It's your turn," she told him, before turning and walking away. Deflated, he put on the locket and started following her back to camp, keeping a few paces behind her, knowing the Horcrux had put her in a mood. But at the edge of the tree line, he watched her sit down on the ground next to Harry, reaching out to tousle his hair, both of them laughing and smiling.

Ron turned around and headed back into the forest, which suddenly seemed much darker than it had just moments before.

_13 October, 1997_

"You know you can block it out if you really try," Hermione said encouragingly to him as she joined him outside the tent. He'd been on watch again, his hands fussing with the locket around his neck.

"Easy for you to say," Ron told her.

"It's not," she told him, her hard gaze meeting his own. "But I try. You should too."

"Why don't you tell _Harry _to try harder."

"I do!" she insisted.

"Hah," Ron scoffed. "You never tell him what to do. _I'm_ the one you always harp on."

"At least I know he's _making an effort_. You, however, don't even bother _trying _to act civil."

"Yeah well, thanks for telling me what I already know, Hermione. I'm rude and I'm lazy and I'm nothing like you or Harry. I'm not _special_! I'm not the _hero_, I'm not the _brilliant one_, so just stop bothering me! Because I'll _never_ be good enough for you!"

Hermione was taken aback. "Ron," she said softly. "What do you mean 'not good enough'?"

Realizing what he'd said, Ron turned away from her. "Forget it."

"Ron, please. Talk to me," Hermione said softly.

"I _said_ forget it!" he snapped.

Hermione did as he asked, though he thought he heard a small sob escape her throat as she left.

_17 October, 1997_

Lying awake some nights, the locket preventing him from finding sleep, Ron knew he had to accept the grim realization that of the three of them, he would be the one to die.

He was the useless one, the extra, _the spare_. What did it matter if he went? Who would miss him? His parents had six other kids, they probably wouldn't notice. Harry and Hermione probably wouldn't either. Neither of them seemed to pay him any attention these days.

Everyone always worried about Harry, about the Dark Lord trying to kill Harry. No-one seemed to bat an eye for the people who stuck their necks out to make sure he _didn't _die, though. Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad Eye. All of them had traded their lives for Harry's. Was he, Ron, next?

What else was he good for? He wasn't clever, like Hermione, wasn't the Chosen One. He was just one more shield, someone Harry kept around to take a curse, to slow the Death Eaters down and buy Harry a few precious seconds.

Ron knew he'd do it too. He'd die for Harry, no questions asked.

_But would anyone do the same for you? _questioned the sound of his own twisted voice, hissing in the darkness.

_23 October, 1997_

"When I was little, my parents used to take me camping all the time. My mum loved it; she's always loved the outdoors. I don't think dad was too fond of it, but she got a kick out of watching him try and act like he knew what he was doing."

Hermione was crying as she spoke, and Ron knew how it was killing her to have her parents so far away, knowing they didn't even remember her. At least if he died, there'd still be a door at the Burrow with his name on it to remind everyone he'd existed.

Ron knew a few weeks—maybe only a few days—ago, he would've reached out to Hermione if he saw her like this. He'd have held her, comforted her, wiped away her tears. It would've broken his heart to see her crying and he'd try anything to make it stop.

"It's your turn," Ron told her coldly, holding out the locket. She reached out and took it, and Ron turned around and left her there alone in the tent, sitting down for his watch, listening to her sobs echo from somewhere a long way off.

_26 October, 1997_

"It's disappointing, isn't it?" Hermione waxed to Ron, both of them lying in their bunks while Harry sat out on-watch. "We've been at this for two months now and we haven't anything to show for it."

_Except the hunk of evil that happens to be hanging 'round my neck at the moment_, Ron thought spitefully, lifting the locket off his chest to examine it. It was quite beautiful, really, he thought, much nicer than anything he'd ever owned.

"Ron, are you listening?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah…"

"It's just…shouldn't we have found another Horcrux by now? Or at least destroyed the one we have?" she continued.

"Well what do you expect when we're following an idiot who can't find his own arse?"

Hermione snorted and Ron grinned before she remembered herself. "That's not very nice, Ron. Harry's doing the best he can."

"Which doesn't mean much, does it?" Hermione said nothing. "Oh, come on. You _know _it's true."

"It isn't Harry's fault Dumbledore didn't tell him everything. He's—"

"Clueless. That's what he is. You know what? I reckon we _should've _brought Lupin with us after all. Bet he coulda found another Horcrux or two by now."

"You know that isn't fair. I'm sure Harry would've loved to have Remus along, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, Tonks is pregnant. I know. Bit hypocritical though, innit? S'alright for his parents to bite it for his sake, but not any others. And he obviously doesn't mind risking our necks, either."

"I was under the impression we volunteered for this."

"We did. But that doesn't give him the right to be so careless, so stupid, so…"

"Reckless?" Hermione finished for him.

"Exactly," Ron said, relieved she'd stopped fighting him on the issue. "I mean if I'd have know this was what it was going to be like—"

"You wouldn't have come?"

A small, hissing whisper told him the answer to her question was 'yes.' "Of course I would have," Ron said defensively. "It's you I'm thinking about."

"Me?" Hermione said, surprised.

"Well, I mean, look at all you've sacrificed for Harry. And for what? And he doesn't even appreciate it, doesn't even care that you've sent your parents away, wiped their memories. He can't-he can't understand what it's like for you…for me."

They both grew silent as Ron's words sank in, neither one able to find the falsehood in them.

"Do you…" Hermione trailed off and Ron knew by the sound of her voice that she had something she desperately wanted to tell him, something she was _afraid _to say.

"Yes?" he encouraged her. "Come on, you can tell me."

Hermione sighed and when she spoke, she talked very quickly, as if that lessened her guilt over the words. "Do you ever wish our circumstances were different? That we'd ended up in a different house from Harry? Or even just a different year, anything to keep us from getting tied to him? To all this?"

Ron was thankful Hermione couldn't see his ears at the moment, which were most definitely pink at the way she'd specified _us_. "Do you?" he asked.

"Sometimes. More…recently." They lay in silence. "I think about what it would be like to be normal, to not have to worry about all this, what we'd be doing if Harry didn't need us so desperately."

Ron felt butterflies in his stomach. "What ah-what do you picture us doing?" he asked, nervously.

Hermione paused. But before she could answer, Harry entered the tent to change places with Hermione. As Ron listened to Harry settle into his bunk, he had the strongest urge to tell Harry what Hermione had just confessed, to tell him that Hermione wished they'd never met him, that she regretted coming on this thankless quest which was going nowhere fast.

But another part of him, the better part, knew those words weren't meant for Harry's ears. They were a secret, one Hermione had chosen to share with him, not Harry. And Ron didn't want to take that away by telling someone else. So instead, he rolled over and tried to imagine all the wonderful, terrible things he and Hermione could be doing in this fantasy world they lived in where neither of them even knew the name 'Harry Potter.'

_28 October, 1997_

He didn't know when it had started, but Ron knew he was keeping the locket longer and longer each day. He barely noticed now, barely noticed the difference between when he wore it and when he didn't. He wasn't sure if he'd finally built up a resistance to its effects or something else entirely. But Harry never seemed to complain when Ron forgot to find him to play pass-the-locket. Only Hermione seemed to care, or notice.

Truthfully, Ron probably would never have noticed what he'd been doing, would never have even thought about it until she confronted him.

"It's been going on for weeks, Ron. Did you think I wouldn't notice? I always remember when my shift ended and I passed you the Horcrux, so I don't see why you think I'm stupid enough not to notice when you're twelve hours are up."

"It's not my fault Harry doesn't come and get it."

She rolled her eyes. "You really expect Harry to be e_ager _to put that thing on?"

Ron shrugged, indifferent. "I've gotten used to it. Who's to say he hasn't?"

"You haven't gotten used to it!" Hermione said, practically cackling as she spoke. "You don't even notice how different you've become because you're wearing it all the time."

"You think I'm weak, then, huh? That I can't handle it? But _of course_ Harry can!"

Hermione didn't back down. "If you'll remember, I was the one who told you you _could_ block it out."

"And who's to say I haven't? Give me a little credit here, Hermione. I'm telling you, I barely notice it anymore."

"Oh yes," Hermione agreed, her voice oozing with sarcasm. "You're absolutely right. I can barely notice the difference either."

"What's that mean?" Ron asked darkly.

"Ron, don't you see? You're almost as bad without the locket as you are when you wear it! And holding on to it longer isn't making anything better."

"Yeah, well, who cares about me, right? I mean I _am _doing Harry a favor, aren't I? Pretty sure he's the one that matters."

"Oh, stop throwing yourself a pity party and just give it here," she said, holding out her hand.

"You want it?" Ron asked wryly. "Come get it."

After a moment's pause, Hermione accepted his challenge and approached him. She walked right up to him, the slopes of her breasts and stomach barely pressing into him as she reached her arms around his neck to undo the clasp. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair that usually smelled of sweet, ripened peaches. But instead all he smelled was dirt, and when her cool hands grazed the skin of his neck, Ron felt himself shudder at her touch, practically sickened at being this close to a…to a…

_Mudblood _the voice finished for him, causing Ron to take a step back from Hermione, looking at her in fright and confusion. He saw her eyes, filled with a hope he hadn't noticed, fade. "Thanks-thanks Ron," she said, sounding hurt. Had he upset her by moving away? "I'll just take this to Harry."

In the following weeks, Ron would think of this day, wondering if it was the point when he'd finally lost sight of the girl he loved…or of himself.

_31 October, 1997_

Ron lunged at Harry. He wasn't sure what he was planning to do—hit him, strangle him, curse him, it didn't really matter. He saw Harry move as well but before either could reach the other or draw their wands, Hermione had raised her own.

"_Protego!_" she cried, her shield erupting between the three of them, cutting Ron off from his 'friends.' He stumbled a bit as the spell pushed him another step away from them and glared at Harry, still thinking about drawing his wand and sending curses at the four-eyed fucker until he broke through Hermione's shield.

"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said, effectively ordering Ron to leave for the third time that night.

_Fine, if he wants me gone, I'm gone,_ Ron thought, wrenching the chain from over his head and casting the locket into a nearby chair. He suddenly felt like he could breathe again, and after steadying himself he looked to Hermione.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you staying, or what?"

"I…" Her gaze flicked to Harry and instantly Ron understood. He didn't need to see the look on her face when she looked back to him again to know her answer. He didn't need to hear the words. He'd known what her choice would be from the moment she wound up on Harry's side of the Shield Charm, _always protecting him_, a voice sneered, echoing inside his head, sounding so much like his own, yet so different. _Him, not you. _"Yes—yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help—"

He didn't listen to her excuses. God, in that moment he hated her too, hated her just as much as he loved her, hated her as much as he hated Harry. Couldn't she just be honest for _once _in her fucking life? Tell him the truth instead of leading him on, dangling hope in front of his face only until it became too much and he reached out to grab it, grab her, determined to never let go before she cruelly pull it away. _I'm a fucking dog on a leash, like my pathetic excuse for a Patronus, begging for any scrap she tosses me._

_Well if she won't say it, I will_, that cruel echo urged him. "I get it," he said, his voice surprisingly even. "You choose him."

That wasn't even right though. It wasn't a choice at all. How could one choose between THE CHOSEN ONE and _nothing_?

He grabbed his rucksack, not caring that half his belongings remained scattered around the tent. What did they matter? He didn't need them. He had wanted one thing, ONE THING. But she would never be his. And he finally knew that certainty.

Ron stormed out, feeling almost happy—deliriously so—over the fact that Harry was practically kicking him out. He couldn't stay and watch _them _any longer. It was only a matter of time before they started fucking each other with more than just their eyes. _They probably are already, behind your back when you're asleep or out looking for food. They think you're so thick you wouldn't even notice._

"Ron, no—please—come back, come back!"

He heard Hermione's shouts, coming from the tent and he stopped for a moment. With each breath, his head felt lighter, the wrongness of his actions becoming clearer. _This is a MISTKATE. A MISTAKE_. _GO BACK. _

But no. While his head felt lighter and clearer with each step, his heart felt like someone had filled it with cement. Filled it with cement, then taken a sledgehammer to it, shattering it and scattering the shards to pierce every corner of his soul. He bent over and retched, though there was nothing inside his stomach to come up.

"Ron."

It was Hermione. She'd followed him. He wiped a bit of saliva from his mouth and turned to face her, but only made it halfway. He couldn't seem to look at her, not now. _Unless_..."Did you change your mind?" he asked, hoping against all odds.

"Ron…"

"I get it." He didn't know why he'd bothered asking again. He didn't know why _she _bothered pretending like she cared. He was doing her a favor, giving her a clear shot at Harry without having to worry about her charity-case friend. "I saw you two the other night," he said simply. _All those nights, those YEARS she'd spent ignoring him while fawning over every move Harry made. 'Oh Harry, you saved my life! Oh Harry, you're so handsome! Oh Harry, you can wipe your own arse you're so amazing!'_

"What? Ron—that—that's _nothing_," Hermione insisted, looking shocked and confused. Her words sounded genuine, like she really wanted to convince him, but all he could think was, _'She knows exactly what I'm talking about. And if she knows, then it obviously isn't 'nothing.'_

He took another step and felt a wave pass over him as he crossed the edge of the anti-Apparition wards. "Ron where are you going?" Her words were muffled because of the spells. He took another step, and was finally beyond their enchantments.

"Please come back." He turned to look at her one last time. And when he saw her face what was left of his heart crumbled to dust. She looked exactly like he felt…but without his heart, he had no reason to listen.

Ron Disapparated, his ears deceiving him into believing he heard a mournful voice howling his name over and over.

_26 December, 1997_

Ron held out the sword, but Harry shook his head. "No, you should do it."

"Me?" Ron asked, completely dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Because you got the sword out of the pool. I think it's supposed to be you." Ron wanted to shout, to tell Harry he was mental, but Harry continued. "I'm going to open it, and you stab it. Straightaway, okay? Because whatever's in there will put up a fight. The bit of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me."

"How are you going to open it?" Ron asked, hoping Harry hadn't thought this through, hoping to find some flaw to stop what was starting to seem inevitable.

"I'm going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue."

"No!" Ron shouted, trying one last protest. "No, don't open it! I'm serious."

"Why not? Let's get rid of the damn thing, it's been months—"

"I can't, Harry, I'm serious—you do it—"

"But why?"

"Because that thing's bad for me!" Ron explained, taking a step away from the locket. How could Harry not understand? He'd been there when Ron had left. "I can't handle it! I'm not making excuses, Harry, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you and Hermione, it made me think stuff—stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse. I can't explain it, and then I'd take it off and I'd get my head on straight again, and then I'd have to put the fucking thing back on—I can't do it, Harry!" He didn't care how pathetic the truth sounded, how weak it made him look in the eyes of the man he respected more than his own father. He would do anything, ANYTHING, to keep away from that thing.

"You can do it," said Harry, "you can! You've just got the sword, I know it's supposed to be you who uses it. Please, just get rid of it, Ron."

He'd been about to protest again, to tell Harry this wasn't just some Quidditch match, that another pep talk wasn't going to work this time, but then Harry said his name and he looked his friend in the face. He remembered hearing his name the night before—only that time it had been Hermione's voice. She had called for him then, and now Harry was doing the same. _Why did you come back? _his conscience questioned, _if not for this? _

Ron turned back to the locket and took a step toward it. A moment ago he would have traded anything to put a thousand miles between himself and the cursed thing. But now he realized he hadn't come back to them after all this time to leave again without seeing _her_.

"Tell me when," he said, only the slightest tremble in his voice.

"On three," said Harry. "One…two…three…" he heard a hissing escape Harry's throat, the same way it had when they'd gone down into the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago. But just as he was about to look to his friend, there was a _click _and the locket opened, revealing two glass windows and beneath them, a wicked eye, that turned and fixed its gaze directly on him.

He heard Harry shout something and raised the sword, his hands shaking so badly he thought he might drop it. And then he heard it, the voice that had whispered to his heart for all those weeks, the one he still heard inside his head and in his dreams.

"_I have seen your heart, and it is mine. I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible…." _

"_Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter…Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend…Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…"_

As if from a great distance he could hear Harry continuing to call out to him, and he raised the sword again when suddenly he stumbled backward in fear as two shadowy figures emerged from the locket.

It was Harry, speaking to him now, confirming the truths he'd only heard inside his own heart. _"Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence….We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption—"_

And then it was the other, Hermione, and Ron felt his chest burn as her words hit him. _"Presumption! Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Harry Potter? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived?"_

Harry continued to shout and the Riddle-Harry continued his taunting, but Ron had only eyes and ears for Hermione. She was gorgeous, glowing like the snow in the moonlight, cold and ethereal. "_Who wouldn't prefer him, what woman would take you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him." _She was perfect, exactly as she always appeared to him: him, and no one else. Even as she spat those words of hate like blades into his chest, he couldn't help but love her. He watched, petrified, as she wrapped herself around Riddle-Harry and he could feel his limbs burn in all the places she touched Harry, felt the ache of longing as tears began pouring from his eyes.

"Do it, Ron!" It was Harry, the _real _Harry, and with tremendous effort Ron turned away from the nightmare to look at his friend. But in that moment, when his eyes met Harry's, he heard a whisper slither into his ear, a voice he half-recognized as his own.

_Kill him, kill Potter. He has seen HER now, seen how beautiful she is, seen what could be, seen what should be yours, what CAN be yours, if only he was gone. Rid yourselves of him. Kill him. Kill Potter. Kill the spare."_

For the third time, Ron raised the sword. He could do it, he could kill Harry. With one flash he would stop being second best, stop being nothing. He would no longer be the spare, but the hero. He would have Hermione all to himself, the way he'd always wanted. They could go anywhere.

And then he caught Harry's eye as he sat there on the ground: vulnerable, weak, helpless.

Harry was _afraid_ of him. Ron had never seen that look on Harry's face before, certainly not directed at him, Ron. He wanted to laugh at how pathetic his friend looked, cowering there, how scared and…and…_human_ the mighty Chosen One looked. How easy it wuld be to just…

But in that moment, through those green eyes Ron also saw the little boy he'd met seven years ago on a train, a boy who'd shared his food with him, who'd picked him, Ron Weasley, over Draco Malfoy, a boy who was just as scared of going to school and not fitting in as he was, who had his own set of impossible expectations to live up to.

He thought back to just a few minutes earlier as he'd pulled Harry out of the frozen pond. He hadn't even realized that Harry had once done the same for him, pulling Ron from the Black Lake in the Second Task. At the time, he'd been too excited about the tournament, too worked up over Hermione being the thing Krum would sorely miss that he hadn't even realized what it really meant.

_He _had been the thing Harry would miss most. He hadn't been Harry's girlfriend or sibling, just a friend: a friend Harry had chosen above all others. And now, in coming back, Ron had the chance to make that same choice.

The sword plunged, and with a scream the locket shattered, taking with it the vision of Hermione. He remained frozen, focused on the locket as if he expected it to lash out one last time, until Harry picked it up and the spell was broken.

Ron collapsed, dropping the sword, his entire body wracked with sobs as he shivered, but numb to the cold. He felt Harry touch his shoulder.

"After you left, she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other. With you gone…"

Ron listened, barely hearing Harry as he continued to weep though his tears were now dry, exhausted. He didn't know why Harry was telling him this. And worse, he felt happy about it, happy to know they had missed him, that _she _had missed him.

"She's like my sister," Harry went on. "I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that. I thought you knew."

_No, I didn't_. How would he? How could he? He wanted to believe Harry. Hell, he wanted do to more than that. He wanted to get down and beg for forgiveness, promise to never doubt his friend—his brother—ever again. But first, first he needed to see _her_, to hear _her_. He just needed _her_…

_3 January, 1998_

Nine days. He'd only been back nine days, and Hermione had yet to speak to him except when absolutely necessary, or when she felt the need to insult him. Part of Ron expected the cold shoulder treatment to last a few more years. He certainly deserved it, no matter how much he wanted her forgiveness. On the other hand, she had forgiven him when he almost died, hadn't she? So she could certainly forgive him now. He'd rather swallow a cauldron full of poison than face the locket again.

As glad as he was to be back, Ron couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Sure, he'd expected both Harry and Hermione to be mad at him, but he felt like he'd been tricked, duped almost. Harry had forgiven him almost instantly and for a day things had been great between them. Even if Hermione still hated him, at least he'd had Harry by his side again.

But ever since they'd visited Xenophilius Lovegood and Harry had learned of the Deathly Hallows, he'd been acting as if nothing else mattered, as if nothing else existed. It was almost like the locket was still with them, only Harry was the only one wearing it. Of course, the fact that it'd been raining for a week straight didn't help matters, nor did it show any sign of letting up anytime soon.

Sure most of the time, he was genuinely happy to be back with them, and acting boundlessly optimistic about their chances at finding and destroying the rest of the Horcruxes was doing a good job of proving the old saying 'mind over matter.' And considering he struggled a lot more than Hermione did when it came to thinking, coming up with ideas on where to go and what to do next did take up a good amount of his time and energy.

But the two of them were so bloody morose most of the time that occasionally he felt himself being dragged down with them. And when he was, the only thing he could think of was what the Horcrux had said, what it had shown him. Sure, he knew nothing had happened. And Harry had as good as told him that nothing could ever happen between the two of them. But he wanted to hear the same thing from Hermione, needed her to tell him.

Unfortunately, he'd thrown away the right to ever ask such a question. And he could live with that. He had to. It was his penance. He'd sworn to himself before he came back that he wouldn't leave them ever again, even if every bloody whispered word that thing had said was true.

"Three Horcruxes left," was his constant refrain to the other two, trying to keep them motivated. He knew they hadn't had the comfort of living indoors the past two months like he had. _Not _that his time away had been very comforting. In some ways it had been worse than the locket itself. He'd finally been thinking clearly, finally able to see how he'd been acting, finally able to comprehend what he'd done.

He knew he'd blamed his actions on the locket, told Harry that it'd affected him more than the others, but deep down he held himself at fault. There was no excuse; they'd all worn the locket, but it hadn't made Hermione leave Harry, hadn't made Harry leave the two of them behind. A part of him wondered if it hadn't tried harder to fuck with their minds since they were the useful ones, the important ones. No, the worst part was knowing that in the end, all those thoughts had started from somewhere deep inside of him.

Ron felt he had to make up for it, somehow. He knew he already had a start with Harry, but what did he have to offer Hermione for his mistake? All he'd brought was knowledge of the taboo which they'd effectively solved on their own, a wireless that he couldn't manage to find Potterwatch on, and the ability to die for her.

So, until the chance for the third one came along, Ron had to content himself with leading the search. He didn't really have any more of a clue where to look than the other two, but he did his best to keep them moving. And as the days passed, the more he realized this was all Harry had ever really done. Harry hadn't known what he was getting into; he just kept pressing on, day after day, and eventually something changed or clicked.

"What are you doing out here?" a voice asked with all the grace of autumn.

"Trying to find something to eat," Ron said in reply, not turning to look at Hermione though he desperately wanted to. It almost didn't feel right, like he no longer deserved to look at her. He took far too much pleasure in the mere sight of her, like he was stealing something that didn't belong to him.

"But you've brought supplies from Bill and Fleur's. We've food for weeks. You don't need to do this."

"Well who knows how long we'll be looking? Might as well try and make it last now that we've got it. Besides, I don't mind. Need something to keep me busy."

"But it's _raining_," Hermione pleaded. And despite himself, Ron smiled at her worried tone, and stood up from the brush he'd been digging around in to look at her.

She was lovely, standing there with her hair down, ready for bed, wearing a jumper over her dressing gown. A _maroon _jumper, which bore a faded, but nevertheless distinct, shape of a capital 'R' across its front.

Ron's smile widened. "I've noticed," he said, shaking his head so water droplets flung everywhere. "How are you doing that?" he asked, pointing at the blanket she was holding over her head to shield her from the rain.

"Impervius Charm," Hermione explained, blushing as she spoke, having noticed Ron's eyes staring at her chest.

"Of course," Ron said, smirking. "I'll come back to the tent in a bit. I just—"

"Ronald Weasley you will get your arse over here right now as I am not taking care of you if you get sick!" Hermione demanded, looking stern.

Ron contemplated Hermione for a moment, wondering if this was a peace offering of sorts, or if she was truly worried.

He walked over to her. "Would you mind?" Hermione asked. Ron took the blanket and held it over both their heads for the walk back. Hermione however, cast a Drought Charm on a patch of ground and plopped down before looking up at Ron. "Well?" she asked.

"I, uh, thought you wanted to get back to the tent," Ron said, confused.

"Why? So Harry can get upset again by us talking? I'd rather not bother him at the moment."

Ron sat down next to her and each of them took a corner of the blanket, draping it over their heads and shoulders, like their own little tent. "You want to talk?" Ron questioned. Since he'd returned, Ron had never had more trouble keeping his mouth shut. He supposed that after having the depths of one's soul bared before his best friend, there really wasn't much reason to hold back or feel embarrassed about.

Of course, Harry had been the one to see those things, not Hermione. He was sorely tempted to apologize every time he looked at her. Though he'd already told her he was sorry, he knew to really apologize would mean explaining everything behind his mistake, and that included the locket. Part of Ron wished she'd been there to see it, so she could understand the way it seemed Harry did. But a part of him was glad. He really didn't want her to see the worst of him, especially since that worst part was innately connected to _her_. He'd already shown Hermione enough of his worst side to last several lifetimes.

And a part of Ron truly thought there were things better off not knowing about a person, even a friend.

"Harry asked me a question today," Hermione said. "And I lied to him."

"What did Harry say?" Ron asked.

"He asked if I was still mad at you."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said I didn't know. And then I asked him why he wasn't mad. And he just said 'he was there.'"

Ron fought the slight worry he felt. "Well I wager if it'd been you I saved from drowning in that pond, you might me more inclined to forgive me too."

"I'm not the stupid one, Ron. That's you."

Ron cringed. Though Hermione words contained no malice, he couldn't deny the truth in them. "Right. Sorry. I forget how thick I am sometimes."

"Oh, so now it's time for another Ron Weasley pity party, table for one?"

_How is it she can get upset when I'm just agreeing with the insults she throws at me_, Ron wondered. He sighed. "No, I'm not throwing myself a pity party. In case you haven't noticed, I've been trying to come up with something since neither of you are being any help." Ron cursed himself the moment the words left his mouth.

"HOW DARE YOU RONALD WEASLEY! How dare you say Harry and I aren't doing anything when you were the one who up and left so you could have a bloody holiday by the sea for two months?"

"I didn't mean it like that. I just meant I'm trying my best to make up for it."

"Yes, well, it's too little too late."

Ron sighed. "Don't I know it?"

His defeated tone seemed to calm Hermione. "So why did you leave?" she asked.

"I told you—"

"No, you did not! You said the locket made you leave. But we _all _wore it, and Harry and I didn't leave. So what did it do to _you _that made it so impossible for _you_ to bear?"

Ron didn't know what to say. _I thought you were in love with Harry? I felt useless, like I wasn't helping? I missed my family, worried for them? I was a coward, a traitor? _All those things were true, to one degree or another, but even together none of them told the full story. He doubted anyone would ever fully understand, not even Harry, unless they found a window into his soul. He couldn't tell her the truth, yet he didn't want to lie to her. So instead he kept silent.

"I didn't choose Harry," Hermione said softly after a moment. "Not really. It's just…it's always been like that, for _years _now: I choose Harry, Harry chooses you, and you choose me. That's the only way it works, the only way no-one gets left out."

Ron's heart dropped at her words. Did that mean he was to spend forever chasing a girl who would never choose him back, who would always pick _Harry_ of all people?

"I choose Harry too," Ron insisted. He did. He agreed with Harry more often than not, at least when it came to things like homework and Snape. And hadn't he been the one pulling Harry out of the water a week ago?

"Yes, I know," Hermione said, patiently. "That's not what I'm saying. I know we all choose each other, protect each other, care about each other." She paused and bit her lip. "Think of it like this: if you had to choose to save either me or Harry, who would it be?"

"You," Ron said, the word coming out of his mouth before he even had time to think of it.

"You're such an idiot," she told him, though she was smiling, albeit a little sadly. "If Harry dies, then none of us stand a chance. Saving me once now wouldn't matter in the long run. But you did just prove my point. And whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, I know that if Harry had to pick between us, he'd pick you." Ron opened his mouth to protest but Hermione put a finger to his lips to silence him. It was the first time they'd actually touched since sitting down together. Actually, it was the first time they'd touched since she'd attacked him after his return. The effect was instantaneous, and Ron felt a jolt of eklektricity shoot from his lips to the tips of his toes, and was sure his hair was standing on end.

Hermione seemed to feel it, too as she pulled her fingers back as if she'd been burned, rubbing them with her other hand, looking down shyly. "So if you're choosing me, and Harry's choosing you, who else could I choose but Harry?" she continued. "I'm not saying I choose him by default, it's just…that's the way it is. You understand that, right?"

Ron should've been surprised but he wasn't. Even though he hadn't told her, even though she hadn't been there to see what came out of the Horcrux, she still knew out of all the horrid things he'd said the night he left, _that _was the one that counted the most.

"Yeah I get it," Ron said, finally. "You didn't _choose_ Harry. But-but if you did, I want you to know I'd be okay with it." Hermione arched an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. "Well, no," Ron admitted, looking dejected. "But I'd understand…eventually. I mean if you're going to end up with somebody else…" He wanted to compare his feelings on the matter to the way he thought about Ginny, how no-one could ever be worthy of either of them, but he really didn't want her thinking he saw her as a sister. _That was Harry_, he needed to keep reminding himself. "…as long as you were happy."

"Well I wouldn't."

"Huh?"

"I wouldn't be happy, if I end up with someone else."

Ron's sunken heart suddenly rose from the depths, sprouting wings and soaring to the heavens. He shifted closer, pulling her to him so she was almost in his lap so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes when he spoke. He needed her to know what she was about to say was the truth, to see it in his eyes.

"Hermione, you know-I wouldn't-I regret leaving you…_both_ of you. It was the biggest mistake of my life. But you have to believe that I regretted it the moment I left. I wanted to come back right away. You _have_ to believe me—" Ron broke off, his voice failing him, trying to look into her eyes and see the understanding, the forgiveness he desperately needed.

"You know it's funny," Hermione said softly. "I thought a lot about what you'd said while you were…_gone_. I knew how ridiculous it was, how ridiculous you were to believe that. I think either of us would've traded the other for you in a heartbeat. I think…I think that's part of the reason why I couldn't go with you. Even if I wanted to—and a part of me _did_—it wouldn't have changed anything. We would've missed Harry the same way he and I missed you."

Ron nodded. "I'm glad you stayed then, so Harry had someone to help him. I mean-I can't imagine what would've happened if you hadn't been there with him in Godric's Hollow. Harry told me a bit about what happened," Ron explained. "Sounds like you were brilliant."

"Always the tone of—"

"No, Ron said, cutting her off. "I'm not surprised. None of the amazing things you do ever surprise me Hermione."

He saw the faint hint of moisture in her eyes at his words. "Tell me again," Hermione asked Ron.

He looked at her, confused. He had no idea what she was talking about. "What?"

"The Deluminator. What did I say?"

"You said my name," Ron whispered. "Just my name." Well technically, she'd said a bit more, but Ron was confident his name was the important part. "It's what brought me back to you."

"And how did I say it?"

"Like you…like you missed me," Ron said.

She looked at him a moment before speaking. "That's how I _always _feel when I say your name, when I think of you. It always feels like you're too far away from me," she finished softly.

Ron looked at her, vulnerable and honest. She was so perfect; he felt as though she'd just told him she loved him and his heart soared so high it left the Earth behind in the distance. And he couldn't help but lean in to kiss her.

Another finger to his lips stopped him, and he looked at her, disappointed. "I can't, Ron. Not now, not yet." Ron nodded, understanding. They'd already come so far today, he should've known this would be pushing it. "But later…later I will-_we _will have all the time in the world."

Ron understood. He would put all his hope in that promise, and do everything he could to make sure that 'later' would become reality.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The title of this chapter comes from lyrics in the song "Moments" by Red House Painters off their album _Ocean Beach_.

This chapter adapts and borrows dialogue and descriptions from chapters 14, 15, 19, and 22 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ and I cannot take credit for JKR's amazing words.

It's always been my personal head canon that Hermione made up with Ron long before they made it to Malfoy manor, just because I don't see how the trio could've functioned for the three months after Ron's return with Harry completely withdrawn over the Hallows and Hermione not talking to Ron. Plus JKR had already done the 'someone nearly died so let's forget our other problems' thing in 6th year when Ron was poisoned and I don't think she'd repeat the same trick again.

I picked October 31st for Ron's leaving for the obvious symbolism and because I wanted the trio to have the Horcrux for a good chunk of time before it started messing with Ron's head bad enough to get him to leave.

Also the talk between Hermione and Ron is my own personal view on the trio. I always saw it as a circular friendship where Harry always picked Ron, Ron always picked Hermione (even while he picked ON her) and Hermione picked Harry. It was the only way three best friends could work in my mind, though obviously the romantic feelings between Hermione and Ron complicated things more and more as they all got older. Hopefully you guys don't disagree too strongly, and even if you do, you can understand it without agreeing with it.


	26. CH25: Another Chance

**A/N: **Thank you to **superfan24 **as usual for her wonderful beta work.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: Another Chance<strong>

_2 May, 1999_

"Hermione," Ginny whined, "you're giving me a headache."

Hermione looked up from her revisions. "I'm not doing anything," she said.

"No, _I'm _not doing anything. _You're _working so hard I keep thinking I'm back in Binns's class," Ginny said, shuddering at the memory. "Seriously, it's seven in the morning and it's a _Saturday_."

Hermione tutted. "We've got N.E.W.T.s in five weeks. They'll decide our entire futures, which I thought mattered to you. But I noticed the study plan I made you is still sitting in the exact spot where I left it for you a month ago."

"Just be thankful I haven't chucked it," Ginny said. "Besides, we've got ages."

"Don't you care about your marks at all?" Hermione asked incredulously. Despite being friends with Ron and Harry for eight—seven, she corrected—years now, she would never understand people who didn't care about tests and results.

"Not really. I'm mean I'm not taking as many classes as you anyway, only four. And Muggle Studies is the only one I'm worried about and I'll probably fail that one no matter how much I study."

"I could help you," Hermione offered.

Ginny waved her off. "Nah. I told you I'm not chuffed about it."

"But what about your career?" Hermione asked concernedly. Since coming back from her Quidditch trials with the Harpies, Ginny's efforts in lessons were at an all-time low and even though she hadn't heard from the team since, she'd obviously flown well enough that she wasn't worried about it. "I mean what happens when you can't fly anymore?"

Ginny laughed. "Hermione, you're acting like I'm almost fifty or something. That's ages away._ Decades_."

"Well what if things don't work out with the Harpies?"

"Merlin, you sure know how to put a damper on someone's mood," Ginny said a bit unkindly. She shrugged. "Then I'll just try again next year, or go out for another team. Regular trials for most clubs don't even start until July."

Hermione chewed her lip, wondering if it was proper to voice her concern. "What happens if you have a baby?" she asked, lowering her voice as she spoke even though the only other people in the common room were a few third years playing exploding snap across the room. Families, and babies in particular, had been on Hermione's mind often as of late, especially now that Harry had told them Fleur had gone into labor the night before. The two girls had stayed up all night waiting to hear if it was a boy or girl, what the baby's name was, if everyone was safe and healthy.

"Well that's what I've got Harry for," said Ginny. "I mean have you seen the size of his vault?"

"_Ginny_!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalized.

Ginny broke into giggles. "Merlin Hermione, relax. I was joking. I swear, you didn't used to be this uptight."

"Yes, well…" _that was back when I still had things to laugh about, _Hermione thought glumly. _Or more specifically, someone to make me laugh_.

"Besides, I don't plan on having a baby anytime soon. Mum's got a grandchild now, or will pretty soon so hopefully she'll be set for a few years. And even if I do decide to pop one out, I'm sure I can always go and work in the shop with George and Ron if I have to quit playing."

Both girls went silent at the mention of Ron's name. Not a day went by without Hermione wondering what Ron was up to. She'd been desperate to ask about him when they got back to Hogwarts after the Easter holidays, but had managed to restrain herself, keeping her questions about her family general. She knew asking about Ron would be like peeling off a scab, one that was only starting to heal. She wanted to know about Verity, if she and Ron were really together, if he was happy with. But Hermione knew she'd given up the right to ask such a question. Ron wasn't hers, not anymore. They weren't even friends, really, though that too was her fault more than Ron's. She knew that's what he wanted but she refused to just be friends with him, like accepting his friendship would be closing the door on the chance for more ever happening between them.

"George told me they're thinking about expanding again, talked about taking Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes international while I was at the Burrow."

"Really?" Hermione asked eagerly.

Ginny nodded. "Ron said the new shop's been doing really well. And the Diagon Alley store is doing better than ever now that George is back to making new products. They reckon they'll have the loan paid off by August, so they've been in talks to buy some real estate in France and Romania and Percy's put them in touch with contacts he made while working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation." Ginny grinned. "It's crazy. Who would've thought Fred and George getting bored enough to make some fake wands one afternoon would lead to all this?"

"It's wonderful," Hermione said longingly. It was wonderful to know that George was finally back on his feet after the last year, and it warmed her heart to know that all of Ron's efforts had been worth it.

She sighed, feeling exhausted and finally closed her book on Ancient Runes. She wasn't making much progress after being up all night, her thoughts consumed by Ron and Bill and Fleur's baby. It was symbolic, a new Weasley coming into the world on the anniversary of their victory over Riddle. In her mind, there wasn't a better way to commemorate the occasion.

_Except a re-inaction of our first kiss, _Hermione thought sadly.

"Oh!" Ginny exclaimed, looking excitedly at her two-way mirror and Hermione shifted over to see Harry's bright face reflected back at them. "Harry! What is it? What is it?" Ginny said, practically bouncing in her seat. "Did Phlem have the baby? Am I an auntie?"

"Yeah," said Harry, his grin consuming his entire face and Hermione felt her own private misery vanish for the moment.

"Boy or girl?" Hermione asked him.

"Girl," said Harry. "Victoire Apolline Weasley."

"Victoire?" Ginny said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, though her eyes betrayed her happiness.

"Victoire," Hermione breathed softly. _Victory. If that's what today symbolized, why do I feel like I've lost so much?_

…

"Miss Granger! Miss Granger! Will you be speaking at today's ceremony?" shouted out a reporter as Hermione and Ginny fought their way through the crowd covering Hogwarts' grounds.

"No, I'm just here to honor—"

"Is today calling up any bad memories of the war for you Miss Granger?" shouted another reporter. "Any survivor's guilt?"

"No I—"

"Is there any truth to the rumors that Ron Weasley is boycotting both of today's ceremonies? Can you confirm that the three heroes of the War are still fighting?" questioned the first reporter

"Of course not—"

"Is your ongoing affair with Harry Potter the reason the three of you haven't been seen together since receiving your Order of Merlins?" demanded a third reporter.

"I…"

"No!" shouted Ginny. "As I'm sure you're already aware, _my_ _boyfriend _Harry Potter is performing security at the Ministry today, otherwise he'd be here to honor those who fought alongside him. And as for my _brother_, I'm sure I speak for him when I tell you to _FUCK OFF_!" Ginny stepped toward the last reporter menacingly, brandishing her wand and the crowd finally parted for them.

"Thanks," said Hermione, as they finally reached the rest of the students milling about on the shore of the Black Lake and greeted Luna.

"I didn't do it for you," Ginny said angrily, clearly incensed by the reporters. "I'm not letting them talk about Harry and Ron like that. And _you_ shouldn't either," she scolded.

Hermione shut her mouth. She knew that even though Ginny seemed to have forgiven her, at times the youngest Weasley couldn't hold back her contempt for Hermione's actions, almost as if she thought Hermione wasn't doing enough to make things up to Ron. A part of Hermione was glad that Ginny wasn't just letting her off the hook. Honestly, she knew she deserved much worse. Hermione had asked Ginny what more she could do, but Ginny had only informed her that if she was so clever, surely Hermione would be able to think of something on her own. But so far, Hermione's brilliant mind had been nothing but a disappointment.

"Is Neville here?" Hermione asked Luna, eager to change the subject.

"You know, I'm not sure. He didn't tell me—"

Before Luna could answer, a voice called out. "Ginny!" The girls turned.

"Hi Verity," Ginny greeted in a tone Hermione couldn't decipher. Did she sound happy to see the blonde witch, or bothered?

"I'm glad I found someone I know. Didn't much fancy watching this by myself. Oh, hi Hermione."

"Hello," Hermione said coolly. "Shouldn't you be at the shop?"

"Nah. George's orders," she said happily. "And thank god! I was dying of boredom before Ron told me to close up shop for the day."

Hermione ignored the worried look Ginny shot her, though her insides were squirming. "Is Ron coming too then?" Hermione asked, hating that _Verity _knew more about him than she did. But she supposed it was something she'd have to get used to, she thought dejectedly.

Verity shook her head. "He told me he was going back to the hospital to see his brother's baby. Oh! Congratulations Ginny," she said, remembering.

"Thanks," said Ginny shortly. "This is Luna by the way."

"Hi," said Verity.

"Hello," said Luna dreamily. "Are you a friend of Ronald's as well?"

Hermione's eyes flashed with hate when Verity had the nerve to giggle—giggle!—at Luna's question. "I guess you could say that."

"Ronald has lots of friends, doesn't he?" said Luna.

"Well he is rather friendly," said Verity, still smiling.

"A little too friendly," Ginny muttered under her breath. Verity, however seemed to miss this.

"So, do you guys know who's speaking?"

_Wish you wouldn't_, Hermione considered saying before she decided to play nice for Ron's sake. "I'm sure Professor McGonagall will say something, probably a couple other professors, maybe—"

"Neville!" Ginny said excitedly, spotting their friend, currently surrounded by a group of fans, looking positively embarrassed by the attention he was getting. "Luna, it's Neville."

"Yes, it is," Luna said, showing no emotion in her face or tone.

"Don't you want to say hi?" Ginny asked.

"Not really. I don't think Neville cares much for what I have to say."

Hermione frowned. It was still a mystery to everyone what _exactly _had caused the row between Dean and Neville on New Year's. No-one even knew if Neville and Luna were still together or if they'd split and not even Ginny felt brave enough in asking the Ravenclaw outright. Surely Neville deserved better than this, deserved more than a loopy girl who clearly didn't know what she wanted.

Hypocrisy burning in her lungs, Hermione left the girls and went to Neville, using her Head Girl voice to send his fan club of third years scattering.

"Thanks Hermione," Neville said, looking at her with immense relief.

Hermione suddenly felt compelled to do something she never had before: she hugged Neville, squeezing him as tightly as she could, not sure where the urge to do so had come from.

She pulled away after a moment. Neville's face was beet red and it took him several tries to form actual words. "Wh-what was that for?" he finally managed.

Hermione only beamed at him. He'd changed so much since the day she'd agreed to help him look for his lost toad, desperate to win over at least one friend at Hogwarts. The poor boy—man, she corrected—had probably never so much as uttered an unkind word undeservedly to anyone. And if even _Neville_ didn't get what he wanted…

"I just wanted to say thanks," Hermione said, her eyes watering.

"For what?" Neville asked, confused.

_For losing your toad and asking me to help you look for him, leading me to walk into a compartment where I met a boy with dirt on his nose and another with glasses who would change my life forever_, she thought_. _"For being a good friend. For being you," Hermione said, telling herself she wouldn't cry. "We-we'd all be a lot better off if we were more like you Neville."

Impossibly, Neville blushed more fiercely. Ginny, Luna and Verity joined the pair.

"McGonagall," Ginny said, inclining her head to the Headmistress at the front of the crowd.

Professor McGonagall amplified her voice before speaking, silencing the crowd who were eager for the ceremony to start. But the Headmistress had a different announcement to make. "Ginny Weasley? Is Ginny Weasley present?"

Hermione looked at her friend who was trying to shout back over the suddenly muttering crowd. "_Sonorus_," Hermione muttered, casting the spell on Ginny.

"I'm here!" she shouted, those nearest turning to look at them. "I'm here professor!"

"Could you come up here, please?" McGonagall said, spotting her.

Neville immediately began parting the crowd for them, and with a worried expression, Ginny followed him toward the front, Hermione, Luna and Verity at her heels.

"What is it?" Ginny asked.

"Miss Weasley, St. Mungo's—"

"What?" Ginny said, sounding more panicked that Hermione had ever seen her. "Is it the baby? Is it Fleur?"

Professor McGonagall's thin lips turned downward. "I'm afraid there's been an attack—"

"Is it Bill? Is Victoire alright?" Ginny said, interrupting her again.

"They're fine," McGonagall said, trying to quell her panic. "It's your other brother. Ron."

Hermione felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her as her legs turned to jelly and she grasped Neville's shoulder for support. She felt panic clawing at her chest, tearing at her throat as her thoughts raced back to sixth year, staring at Ron's ashen face as he lay in the hospital wing after the poisoning. But even though she was on the verge of collapse, her eyes blazed with determination. "We need a Portkey," Hermione demanded.

"Miss Granger," said McGonagall, sounding stern, but understanding. "We can't be certain it's even safe. There could be other—"

Hermione cut her off. "I'm going to St. Mungo's now! So either you can set up a Portkey for us or I will do it myself."

…

"Oh, Bill," Mrs. Weasley said, breaking out in sobs for probably the hundredth time since Hermione and the others had arrived at St. Mungo's. "Oh thank Merlin you were there to save him," she said, throwing her arms around her oldest son and proceeding to crush the life out of him.

Harry, Hermione, Luna and all the Weasleys had been waiting outside Ron's hospital room for someone to tell them how he was doing. McGonagall had whipped up a Portkey and sent Hermione, Ginny and the others straight to St. Mungo's, which was in utter chaos after the attack from the Lestrange brothers. Ginny had wrestled a healer to the ground and started demanding to know where Ron was. Hermione hadn't even waited, racing off to start searching the hospital room by room. Thankfully, Luna kept a clear head and tracked down the room Fleur was in and from there they found Bill who filled them in on everything.

Neville meanwhile had stayed at Hogwarts in case there was another Death Eater attack. He had, however, managed to get a message to Harry at the Ministry, letting him know what was going on. After finding Arthur and Percy and filling them in, he too raced to St. Mungo's.

"I didn't even know it was Ron until after I took down Rodolphus," said Bill shakily. "He was so fixed on Ron he didn't even hear me come up behind him. I hate to think what might've happened if I'd stayed in the room with Fleur."

"I still don't understand why they attacked St. Mungo's," said Percy. "I mean why not the Ministry? Or Hogwarts? They would've had hundreds of prime targets."

"And loads of Aurors to deal with," said Mr. Weasley. "That's probably why they chose today for the attack. They knew all of our defenses would be concentrated in two locations for the commemoration, leaving St. Mungo's defenseless."

"They sure didn't count on Ron," laughed George weakly, his eyes looking a bit hollow. "Sure showed them what for, didn't he?"

"Do you really think he did_ that_?" Ginny asked quietly. "Y'know…the staircase?"

Hermione missed the look her friend shared with Harry, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. When they'd first arrived, Hermione had been so impatient to find Ron that she'd ignored the packed lift and made for the staircase, only to find it completely melted, the walls and ceiling blackened and burnt. The healer that had told Luna where they could find Bill and Fleur had told them a bit about the parts of the fight he'd witnessed. The healer, Dick, had told how he'd been part of a small group of healers trying to fight the Inferi, led by a tall young man with red hair who'd told the rest what to do. It had to be Ron, Hermione knew. But learning that _Ron _had been the one to do that, to cause that kind of damage he'd inflicted was… incomprehensible. She didn't know of many spells that could cause an inferno intense enough to cause that kind of destruction, and it was hard to believe that _any _nineteen year-old wizard could control such a powerful spell.

"How do you think they got in?" George asked, his voice practically a whisper.

"Who knows? Disguises, Polyjuice, Disillusionment Charms," said Bill. "What I'd like to know is why: what were they hoping to accomplish?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged another look unseen by Hermione, whose eyes remained glued to the door of Ron's room, practically willing for a healer to emerge and tell them that Ron was fine.

And, miraculously, the door opened. Everyone was on their feet, crowding around the witch.

"He'll be fine," she announced, and almost as one, the Weasleys let out a sigh of relief. "He's stable now and we have him on several different pain potions to care of both his internal and external injuries." Hermion's breath caught, imagining the worst despite the healer's assurances to the contrary.

"Can we see him?" asked George.

The healer looked around at their large group. "Ah…maybe just the parents at first. We don't want to overwhelm him."

Hermione was having none of that. "You're not going in there without me," she said sternly. Immediately, Harry, Ginny and George sounded their agreement.

Molly however, put her foot down. "Absolutely not! The healer says he's still recovering and I will _not_ tolerate you lot getting him worked up and making things worse."

Hermione knew it was childish to argue, knew that her presence wouldn't help Ron heal any faster. In fact, there was good chance Ron seeing her _would _make things worse, as Molly feared. But if someone was allowed to see Ron, Hermione absolutely refused to be left standing on the other side of the door. "I'm going in there, whether you like it or not!" she shouted before pushing her way to the front of the group and opening the door, leaving the others behind her stunned, completely shocked to see _anyone _stand firm under the gaze of a rejuvenated mama Weasley.

But there was no cause for immediate concern. Hermione found Ron sleeping peacefully, some empty vials and open salves on a table beside his bed. She knelt beside his head and reached out to cup his cheek, something inside of her desperate for that contact, that assurance that he was still alive. But when her fingers lightly grazed his skin, she found him cold, colder than he'd ever felt, almost like a corpse. But he was breathing, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath and beat of his heart and Hermione sighed in relief. Ron was all right.

The others filed in, filling the room. Hermione turned to look at the healer, finally catching her nametag which read 'Healer Fitzsimmons.'

"Why is he so cold?" she asked quietly, as if she were afraid of waking him even though she wanted nothing more than to see him awake and alert.

"We're not exactly sure. When we first brought him down here he was running a temperature of nearly forty-three degrees. But it's started dropping rapidly after that. We've given him potions that keep him stabilized, but it's up to his body to start warming up again."

"What's wrong with his arms?" George said.

Hermione looked, noticing what she'd missed in her rush to touch him: the scars he'd gotten from the brains looked as if they were brand new, standing out against his freckled arms. They'd faded away over the years to the point that they were hardly noticeable, but now they stood out like a fire in the dark.

"We're not sure of that either. We were told how he received them," said Healer Fitzsimmons, inclining her head toward Bill, "but we've no idea what's caused them to flare up like this or how to treat them. But I assure you they aren't causing him any pain."

With that assurance, Hermione let the matter leave her mind. What did a few scars matter so long as they weren't bothering him, so long as Ron was alright?

"I'll leave you alone with him, but I'll be back later to check his condition," said the healer before exiting the room.

Mrs. Weasley had crouched down on the other side of Ron's bed and was gently stroking her son's hair, shedding fat crocodile tears.

"You really think they were after Bill?" Ginny asked no one in particular.

"Bill, Fleur, the baby. Maybe even you, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, speaking up for the first time in what felt like ages.

"Oh, come on," said George. "Why would the Lestranges go to all that trouble just to get a crack at the Weasleys?"

"What other explanation is there? They've been on the run for months now. If they were just looking to inflict some damage or cause mayhem they had dozens of more important targets to choose from. And there has to be a reason they chose today of all days to attack."

"Okay Sherlock," said George, prompting quizzical looks from most of his family. "Uh, Muggle-thing, Verity told me about it," he explained hastily. "Anyway, what d'you think Harry?"

"Revenge," said Harry knowingly. "They had to know it was only a matter of time before they were caught. We almost had them a couple times already. So they wanted to cause some damage before we brought them in."

"But why us?" said Ginny.

"Bellatrix," said Hermione, cottoning on to Harry's line of thinking. "Mrs. Weasley, you got Bellatrix in the Battle. They were after you…or your family." It made sense. Bill himself had said he'd thought the Lestranges had been going room-to-room searching for someone in particular before Ron caught them by surprise.

Molly looked mortified at the idea that by saving her daughter's life, she'd made her son and granddaughter into prime targets, but said nothing.

"But why not just attack the Burrow?" questioned George.

"It's too well protected," said Harry. "It's still got plenty of enchantments left by the Order and Kingsley beefed up its protections after he knew I was going to be staying there. Plus Ron and I added a few more after…"

"What?" said Ginny.

"After Rita's article came out last year. Reporters were desperate to get in to get a look at me and Ron, and Ron was getting dozens of owls a day. So we decided to make sure they couldn't get in with a few spells from my Auror manuals."

Hermione allowed herself a brief smile, thinking that some good might've unwittingly come from Rita's trashy writing.

They all stayed there for a long while until it was clear Ron wasn't waking anytime soon. Bill decided to go check on his wife and daughter and Mr. Weasley, Ginny, Luna and George went with him. Percy left to go and tell Audrey that everything was alright, leaving Hermione, Harry and Molly alone with Ron. The three of them sat quietly. Eventually Arthur returned to take his wife home, telling her she could come back first thing in the morning after a good night's sleep in a real bed and she left reluctantly, but only after placing a kiss on her son's forehead.

"Don't you want to see the baby?" Harry asked Hermione after they'd left.

She nodded. "I do. But…" _But this is more important_ was the unfinished thought, though Harry seemed to understand and the two friends resumed their silent vigil.

Ginny and George eventually returned, though George left when Healer Fitzsimmons showed up, promising he'd be back with food for all of them.

"I'm going to have to wake him to administer some of these potions," she told them. "If you'd like to leave…?" None of them budged. She sighed and cast _Ennervate _on Ron, though it seemed to take a long time for him to open his eyes. And when he did, something seemed…_off_ about them, almost literally, as if those brilliant blues had somehow dimmed.

_How long have they been like that? _Hermione wondered. _Is that from the fight or did I…did I do that?_

"Hey," Ron croaked, noticing his bedside companions. Harry sighed in relief, Ginny broke out into a huge smile, her eyes slightly watery, and Hermione…Hermione took her first breath of fresh air in hours.

"How are you feeling Mr. Weasley?" asked Healer Fitzsimmons.

"Like I was hit by the Cruciatus about a hundred times," he groaned, struggling to sit up.

The healer pushed him back down. "Well thankfully it was only three times. And you shouldn't move yet," she scolded.

"Three?" Ron questioned, his voice raspy, almost…_sexy?_ Hermione colored in embarrassment. She shouldn't be thinking about such things with Ron lying here sick. _I shouldn't be thinking about such things at all anymore, _she thought, _at least not to do with Ron_.

"Well it seems you passed out after the second. And no talking. Save your strength. And I'll need you to drink this," said the healer.

Ron opened his mouth to launch a protest but was caught off by the healer tipping a potion down his throat.

He gagged, barely managing to swallow. "Merlin that's awful."

"Well maybe that'll teach you to be more careful next time. I've heard this isn't your first time in a hospital. Madam Pomfrey sent over your medical records from your school days," she explained, looking bemused.

"I'll try and keep that in mind next time I have to face a hundred Inferi and a couple of insane Death Eaters," Ron joked.

That was the last straw for Hermione who launched herself at Ron, knocking Healer Fitzsimmons out of the way as she threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly and broke into tears.

"Uh, can we have a minute?" Harry asked the healer, seemingly embarrassed over his friend's behavior. Not that Hermione cared a whit.

"A minute," she said, smiling again and getting up to leave. "Then I'll be back."

"Did I hear Mum yelling earlier?" Ron asked once the four of them had some privacy.

"She and Hermione had a bit of a tiff," explained Ginny. "It's okay, though. They were just fighting about who got to love you the most." And Hermione had the most irresistible urge to bury her face in Ron's chest, hiding her embarrassment in Ron's hospital gown.

Ron, however, laughed. "Never thought I'd see the day," Ron chuckled.

"What?" they all asked.

"You and Mum going at it," he said, nodding to Hermione. "Only thing less likely is her and Harry fighting." He was grinning. He was joking, and this more than anything, made Hermione fell like things might be alright, even if _they _weren't alright.

"I don't think there's anything Harry could do to get your mum to yell at him," she said, playing along.

"Yeah well just wait until she finds out he and Ginny are shagging each other."

"I _am_ right here," Harry reminded them, groaning with embarrassment.

"And who says we're shagging?" screeched Ginny.

"Well I…I wasn't serious," Ron said.

"Well I don't see how _that _is any of your business. Or why you'd want to think about it," continued Ginny, looking like she would very much like to hit Ron.

"Who said I wanted to?" Ron retorted. "It's your fault, writhing all over the place together." A light seemed to come on inside his thoughts. "Wait. You're not shagging right?" he demanded. "Because I was really joking."

Hermione felt herself grinning as the siblings bickered back and forth. She knew Ginny had gone through with her plan to sleep with Harry over Christmas. She'd been treated to a practical play-by-play a few days after Ginny had managed to pull Hermione out of her post-ball funk, learning more about her bespectacled best friend that she'd ever needed to as a result.

A part of her had been surprised to find out; she'd half thought her and Ron's fallout at the Order of Merlin ceremony might've driven all thoughts of carnal activity out of her friend's mind, but it seemed to have done the opposite, pushing Ginny past that last hurdle to take hold of what she had and never let go. Hermione had pretended to be happy for her, but inside she felt nothing but jealousy: not for Harry, but for what they had gotten to share together, what she should've shared with Ron. And even though a part of her had been sickened by the intimate details, her feelings of regret overpowered those of disgust. She couldn't even remember her own first time except the slight ache she'd experienced the morning after. And even if by some miracle she and Ron one day managed to work through everything, she'd already robbed him, robbed _them _of the chance to share something so beautiful. Ron would never get the chance to share his own story of their first time with Harry. Or maybe he would, when he and Verity got around to doing the deed eventually. It was an inevitably, right? If not Verity, then some other witch would eventually be lucky enough to catch his eye and ensnare his heart and celebrate the more physical side of love with him.

At least, she hoped Ron's first time would be with someone he loved. Even though it hurt imagining him with anyone else beside her, he deserved that much at least.

Hermione finally interrupted them, needing to move on to a new topic before regret overwhelmed her. "Maybe we should talk about something else?" she suggested. Harry, nodding eagerly, quickly began questioning Ron about the attack and his fight with the Lestranges, Harry and Ginny filling him in on how Bill had shown up just in time to save him. As Hermione listened to Ron tell the story, she grew more and more distressed as if it was still happening rather than already done and over. She could only hope Ron was embellishing the details as he often did, hadn't really suffered through such pain and exhaustion during the fight, but something told her he wasn't exaggerating. Not this time. _How many ways do I almost have to lose him before I learn to never let go? _she wondered despondently.

"Remind me to thank Bill for not listening to me when I see him," Ron joked. "Merlin, I'd have been a goner."

At these words, Hermione threw herself at Ron again, wrapping her arms around his chest and burying her face in his shirt as tears broke out. "Why do you always have to do this Ronald Weasley?" Hermione demanded, restraining herself from beating him to a pulp by squeezing him even tighter."

"What?" Ron gasped feebly.

"Make her cry, you dingbat," said Ginny.

"Oh," said Ron, looking ashamed of himself. "You know you can stop that?" Ron croaked. "m'Fine, y'know. Or I will be when I can breathe again."

Hermione pulled back. "Sorry," she told him, looking into his eyes. "It's just I can't help thinking…" she sniffed. "I can't help thinking this is what it would've been like if you'd become an Auror." _What it would've been like if you'd become an Auror AND we'd gotten married_, she finished the thought in her head, and she couldn't help but feel grateful that Ron hadn't gone down the same road as Harry, selfish as the thought was. Though she knew she'd be more than happy to resign herself to a life of constant worry for his safety if it meant Ron Weasley was her husband.

"Well I reckon something like this had to happen sooner or later. It's been pretty boring lately," Ron said, and Hermione laughed wetly. "Still, it's nice to see you still hold my abilities in such high regard."

"Of course I do," Hermione said insistently, snapping at him. "I know you'd be brilliant as an Auror. I always have."

"Er, that was supposed to be a joke," Ron said.

"Oh." And then she was crying again. Were they _that _broken? To the point where she couldn't even tell when he was joking anymore?

"And apparently it was a lousy one," Ron said sheepishly.

Hermione shook her heard. She should have known it was a joke. He hadn't been smiling when he said it, but the self-deprecation had lacked the old bitterness and scorn he'd always piled on his shoulders at school. But he was different now. He'd changed. Not that she minded the changes; she'd watched him change for seven years and he was still Ron. But now he was doing it away from her. She was missing out on all these changes, and she didn't want to.

Suddenly Hermione put her hand in his hair and pulled their faces together, kissing him full on the mouth. It wasn't very romantic or even good by their standards, but she felt him kissing her back and she realized just _how _it was different from the hundreds of kisses in their past. It wasn't like those teasing butterfly kisses nor the heated snogs they'd shared in Ron's bed or desperate like their first in the heat of the battle. This was a kiss born of need, plain and simple, a need for each-other that said so many things: hello, thank god you're alright, I've missed you, we're home…It was like the kisses she'd seen Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchange at times when they thought their children weren't looking, like the ones she'd seen her own parents exchange in more recent memory.

"I love you," she told him when they broke apart.

"Me too," Ron said after a moment, smiling weakly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if they did it every day, as if it wasn't the first time they'd both exchanged those words, without fear or doubt or anything else in the way. She didn't know why he hadn't tried stopping her like he had in the Shrieking Shack. Perhaps it was his exhaustion, or maybe he was still loopy from all the potions he was taking. _Or maybe he just doesn't care one way or the other anymore_, she though, her heart clenching.

Well, if Ron didn't care, then there was nothing to hold her back. Hermione moved to kiss him again, desperate to taste him, to remind herself what his love felt like again, even as she felt it crashing over her in waves.

The problem was, Ron wasn't responding this time, wasn't allowing her into his mouth, into his heart. He'd closed up again, after letting her in for a moment.

"I can't," he told her, gently pushing her away. "I just—"

She didn't know how she had a piece of her heart left big enough to break, but somehow it did in that moment. But she did her best to smile, and nodded. "It's okay," she said, knowing it wasn't.

"Uh, you know we're still here right?" asked Ginny, pulling both Ron and Hermione out of their bubble where only the two of them existed. Hermione looked down and began fidgeting with a frayed end of her blouse, though her eye caught Ginny grinning smugly.

"Sorry," she said, embarrassed, unsure what to do next.

"Okay, is someone going to finally bother to fill me in?" Harry asked angrily.

"Harry—" Ginny tried.

"Don't," said Harry, holding up a hand to silence her. "Just don't. I've had no clue what's been going on with you both for _months_ now. First you're down," he said, motioning to Ron, "and then it's your turn," he looked at Hermione. "And then you seem to make up and everything's okay for a minute before it all goes to hell again." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry cut her off again.

"Look, I wanted to stay out of it. I thought it was best to let the two of you work it out all on your own, like always. But I just can't do this anymore. I have no idea why my two best friends _aren't _friends anymore and it's making it impossible to be friends with either of you. I feel like I'm always having to watch what I say or do, and I don't even know _why _I'm doing it. It's like everyone else is in on this secret I haven't got a clue about." He turned to glare at Ginny. "I know you know, too. Ever since Valentine's Day you've been acting like you knew what's really going on so I know one of them had to tell you.

He looked back at his two best friends. "You two have helped me with so much. You've _been _through so much for my sake. And if after everything it's all over, I think I have the right to know why my two best friends whose first kiss I witnessed can't seem to be in the same room with one-another without acting like the world is ending."

Hermione gaped at Harry as he sat there, panting from his speech. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him so worked up about something, so vocal about his feelings. _Maybe after reading Rita's book on Dumbledore's past_, she thought, trying to remember.

It'd been foolish not to tell Harry from the beginning, foolish to think Harry would sit and wait for them to work things out, to accept the fact that there was no more trio without wanting to know why. So Hermione opened her mouth to speak, to explain her mess, but Ron got there first.

"Yeah, sorry about that mate," said Ron, looking guilty. "I should've told you."

"_We _should've told you," added Hermione, unwilling to let Ron take all the blame. "Especially since it's my fault."

"No," Ron said determinedly. "No, it's not. We both-we both caused this." He sighed. "I guess we might as well do this now. Harry I—"

The door opened and Healer Fitzsimmons entered. "Alright that was almost _fifteen _minutes," she said, sounding more amused than upset. "May I have my patient back now?"

Hermione stood up, apologizing.

"Why don't we go see the baby?" Ginny suggested, catching Hermione's eye. The three of them moved to leave.

"Harry?" Ron called out. "Mind staying for a mo'?"

"Sure," said Harry, his earlier anger gone as he sat back down, looking embarrassed at his outburst.

Hermione looked at her two boys. She wanted to stay, to hear how Ron would explain things to Harry, but she knew it would probably be easier for Ron without her there. "We'll be back," she promised.

"Can't wait," Ron groaned as Healer Fitzsimmons started prodding him with her wand, checking on his recovery.

Hermione and Ginny went to see Victoire. She was beautiful, absolutely stunning with Bill's features and her mother's complexion.

"Would 'ou like to 'old 'er?" Fleur asked Hermione.

"Oh, please," Hermione said, reaching for her…_niece_? In her heart, Hermione knew that's how she would always think of the little girl as she held her in her arms, rocking her gently.

"Was Mum really the first one to hold her?" Ginny asked.

"Of course," said Fleur. "But zat is fine. It eez a spezial bond, between a grandmuzzer and 'er first grandchild."

"Have your parents come to see her yet?" asked Hermione.

"Tomorrow, 'opefully," said Fleur. "Once zis mezz eez taken care of."

"We told them to wait until everything was sorted out," explained Bill. "The hospital's a mess right now and the Ministry too, probably. Trying to get a couple of foreign wizards into the country isn't high on their priority list at the moment."

As Hermione handed Victoire to her father, she marveled at the team Bill and Fleur made. Back in fourth year, she probably would've laughed at the idea that they'd be married for two years with a baby at this point, but now nothing seemed surprising or unnatural about their love.

"Will you go back to work?" Hermione asked, thinking of her conversation with Ginny.

"Perhaps," said Fleur, looking at her daughter wistfully. "But eet weel take a lot to take moi away from 'er."

Hermione couldn't resist shooting a 'you see?' look at Ginny, but her friend only rolled her eyes. She turned back to look at the little redheaded girl, her eyes full of half-forgotten dreams of having one of her own one day.

…

The two girls eventually made their way back down to Ron's room but found the door closed. They could hear muffled voices speaking on the other side and they guessed Harry and Ron had started their talk without them and Hermione fought the urge to barge in and interrupt them. _What am I worried about? _Hermione chided herself. _Do I really think Ron is trying to turn Harry against me? _

She knew that wasn't the case. If it was, Ron would've told Harry—and everyone else—about what she'd done a long time ago instead of keeping it a secret. Besides, the truth was bad enough. Ron didn't have to lie or exaggerate anything to make her look horrid.

"Maybe we should see if they have a fireplace we can use to get back to school?" Ginny suggested.

Hermione nodded. "You do that. I'm going to wait here."

"But—"

"Ginny, please?"  
>Ginny nodded and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I'll be back soon."<p>

Hermione knew it was only because of the extreme circumstances of the situation that Professor McGonagall had permitted them to leave Hogwarts in the first place and that they probably should get back as soon as possible now that they knew Ron was alright. But a part of her couldn't bear the thought of leaving Ron yet. They had so little time together these days. And who knew how many more chances she'd have to see him in the future. She was leaving Hogwarts in a little over a month. And after that…there would be nothing to connect their lives together except memories. And Harry.

_That's assuming he doesn't hate me too_, Hermione thought morosely.

She turned, hearing the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, expecting to see Ginny returning, trying to think of an excuse to stay a little longer. But instead it was Verity, bringing with her feelings Hermione didn't want to deal with in her fragile state.

"Is he alright?" Verity asked her. Hermione took note of the glassy look of the woman's eyes and the bitter retort on her tongue vanished. Whatever her feelings for Ron, she wasn't a bad person.

"The healers say he's fine. He'll probably have to stay here for a day or two so they know there isn't any lasting damage, but…"

"Did George make it here okay?" she asked, sinking down into a chair the Weasleys had used earlier as they'd waited to see Ron. "After you all left I went and told him what happened."

"He did." Hermione paused. "Thank you. I'm sure both he and Ron appreciate it."

"Least I could do," Verity said. "I just wanted to come and make sure he was okay."

Hermione looked at her. "Why didn't you come earlier with George?" she asked, a bit unkindly. When McGonagall had made the Portkey to take them to St. Mungo's she'd been both relieved and upset that Verity had declined to go with them. Hermione hadn't really wanted Verity to come along for her own selfish reasons, but a part of her had been angry that this girl that Ron supposedly fancied didn't care enough about him to come with them. He deserved better than that. _He deserves_ _me_, Hermione admitted, before feeling disgusted with the thought. Maybe Ron deserved better than Verity, but he deserved better than her as well.

"I thought he'd appreciate just having his friends and family with him," explained Verity. "I-I didn't want to intrude."

Hermione felt even more ashamed than she had before. Here she'd been thinking—maybe even hoping—Verity didn't care about Ron at all, when the truth was the complete opposite. Here she was, consumed with her own selfish feelings when Verity was the one doing what she thought was best for Ron, even if it meant staying away from him.

She wanted to hate this girl who was coming between them, but she couldn't. She wasn't another Lavender. She'd been with Ron these past few months when everyone else was too busy for him, when Hermione had ran away and stayed gone and bungled her chance to set things right when she'd returned. _Maybe she is the type of girl Ron deserves_.

The door to Ron's room opened and she turned to find Harry looking at the both of them.

"Can we talk?" Harry asked Hermione. She nodded and turned to Verity.

"I'm sure Ron would like to see you," she said, trying her best to sound cheerful.

"Thanks Hermione," Verity said, standing up and going into Ron's room and leaving her alone with Harry who took Verity's vacated seat.

"Ron told me what happened," said Harry. "Between the two of you."

She was almost afraid to look at him, but when she did she saw the hope in his eyes, his desire to hear that Ron was mistaken, that the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding. "Did he tell you everything?" Hermione asked, fighting the urge to clarify, to explain, knowing her excuses wouldn't help matters in the slightest.

"More or less. I mean I'm sure he left out a few details." He paused, as if preparing himself. "Is it true?"

"Yes," she sad sadly. Immediately the hope vanished, replaced with a look of disappointment she'd never seen him focus on her in the past. Yes, there'd been times where he huffed at her, even a few occasions where he'd been truly angry and snapped at her. But this, seeing this disappointment and knowing how she'd let him down, was unbearable. It was even harder to face than her parents after she'd removed the memory charms and explained what she'd done to them.

"I can't imagine what you must think of me. To do that to him, to-to both of you…"

Oddly, Harry smiled. "I think the same thing I always have: I'm wondering how someone so brilliant can be so stupid." They both laughed but it sounded hollow to her ears. "He also told me how he knows you're sorry."

"And what do you think?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"Merlin, Hermione, what am I supposed to think? I knew_ something _must've happened, but I had no idea-I never thought…"

"I know."

"I almost can't believe it," Harry said, looking down at the floor.

"I wish I could tell you not to believe it. I wish I could more than anything. But I can't."

They sat there. Hermione had never had a problem talking to Harry. She always had something to say to him, even if she often chose the wrong words to use. But looking at him now she felt lost. This year, Harry had been her rock, and the few times she'd gotten to seen him, she had been able to forget what she'd done, forget that everything was wrong because of her actions. And now that last safe haven was gone.

"So what now?" she asked.

Harry sighed, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. If anyone else had done this to Ron, I'd probably want to murder them. I know he'd do the same for me," he said honestly and Hermione could only nod feebly.

"But it's _you_! I mean, you're my…how could I…"

"I know. You should hate me. _I _hate myself," she said as tears formed in her eyes.

"Well, Ron already told me that he doesn't want me to be angry at you. He told me what happened is between you two and none of my business but…he doesn't get to decide what I think and feel."

Hermione could feel more tears nipping at her eyes. "I understand," she said, sniffing.

Harry turned to look at her. "But if I can forget Ron leaving us…I mean you were the one who…" he trailed off, looking as if he too were on the verge of tears. "You're my sister, Hermione."

Hermione reached out to embrace him, but restrained herself, her arm still inches away from him. But where she stopped, hesitant, Harry wasn't, reaching out and pulling her into his arms, embracing her with more love and safety than she'd ever felt from him before.

"I'm not saying I understand right now. I mean I'm still processing that you could even do something like that." She cringed at the reminder. "But I already said it; we've been through so much together, all of us."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sobbed against him, feeling his body shake against hers, knowing he too was finally crying.

"It'll be okay," he told her, stroking her hair.

"How can you say that?" she asked brokenly, wishing she could believe him like she always had in the past.

"Because it has to be," he whispered. "Because you won't let it end like this. Right?"

She knew Harry needed assurance as much as she did, knew that he probably wanted things between all of them to be like the old days almost as much as she did. But she couldn't give it to him when she didn't believe it herself.

"It's just…everything's so wrong…and it's all my fault," she cried bitterly.

"He doesn't hate you," Harry said, trying to comfort me.

"At least that would be something," she said with a hiccup. "He doesn't feel anything for me. He doesn't _want _to love me."

"Can you blame him?"

She pulled out of his embrace. She knew Harry wasn't trying to be cruel, only trying to put himself in his best mate's shoes. "No," she said, wiping her tears. "No, I know he doesn't deserve any of the blame for that one."

Ginny found them a few minutes later, still comforting one another. "Everything okay?" she asked. It was such a loaded question neither Hermione nor Harry knew how to answer her. She sighed. "Well, visiting hours are almost over. But I talked to one of the healers and we can use the fireplace on the second floor so we can head back whenever you're ready," she told Hermione.

Hermione took a moment to try and clean herself up and stood, ready to say goodbye to Ron. When they walked in the room, they found him sleeping, Verity sitting in a chair watching him, a smile on her face.

"I think he's exhausted," explained Verity, sounding amused. "He fell asleep right in the middle of talking to me."

"Don't take it personally," said Ginny. "He does that a lot."

There was a knock on the door and Healer Fitzsimmons poked her head inside. "You lot are still here?" she asked, sounding less cheerful than she had earlier. "I'm sorry, but visiting hours are almost over." She looked at Ron and smiled softly. "And it looks like you've worn poor Mr. Weasley out anyway."

Hermione looked at Ron, reaching her hand out to move his fringe away from his eyes. She didn't want to leave, not now, not when she had the chance to sit and stare at him in peace, unobserved, like she had so many times over the years while he played chess with Harry or while they conducted rounds.

"Can't she stay?" asked Verity, and Hermione realized she was speaking about her.

"Are you family?" she asked dubiously. Hermione shook her head. "I'm sorry dear, but St. Mungo's policy only allows immediate family to stay overnight with a patient."

"She's his fiancée," Verity explained. Thankfully, the pronouncement caught Healer Fitzsimmons by such surprise that she missed the looks of shock from Harry, Hermione and Ginny.

"Oh! I didn't know. You didn't say—"

"They're keeping it quiet," said Ginny, jumping in after recovering from the shock of Verity's lie. "You know, the press and all," she explained.

"Oh of course," she said, nodding. "But it's still against hospital policy—"

"Please," Hermione pleaded.

Healer Fitzsimmons studied her for a moment before finally relenting. "Oh, alright. Secret romance…gets my old heart all aflutter. _But_," she warned sternly, "he needs his rest. So I don't want you bothering him or doing anything too…_exerting_."

Hermione was too grateful to be embarrassed. "Oh thank you," she said, kneeling down next to Ron again, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Right," said the healer, smiling. "Now the rest of you: out! Out out out!"

"I'll see you back at school," Ginny said as she left. Harry laid a hand on her shoulder for a moment, squeezing gently before following his girlfriend. But when Verity stood to leave Hermione called her back for a moment.

"Thank you," Hermione told her. She didn't know why Verity had come up with that story, but she knew she was grateful to her. "Thank you for caring about him."

Verity smiled, a little sadly. "Take good care of him," she said.

"I will," Hermione promised, moving her gaze back to Ron. When she heard the door close again, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead and Ron shifted in his sleep. Hermione reached out to grasp his hand and felt his fingers close around hers, squeezing them tightly as if they never wanted to let go.

"You're very lucky you know?" Hermione looked up to see Healer Fitzsimmons still watching them. "He's very brave. And quite handsome."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, he is," she said, turning back to look at the man of his dreams.

"Make sure to hold onto him. The good ones are few and far between," the healer said before finally exiting the room, leaving them alone.

"I will," Hermione repeated to herself. "I will."

_22 May, 1999_

Hermione was checking her watch every few moments. Gryffindor was behind by twenty points and she didn't want to leave and miss the rest of the final match of the season against Ravenclaw, the one that would decide the Quidditch Cup, but each passing minute where Ginny failed to catch the Snitch brought her one minute closer to being late for her meeting.

_Why did it have to be today of all days_? Hermione thought, completely frustrated. Before the Easter holidays, she'd asked Professor Slughorn to finally set up the interview with Walter Portsmith for Junior Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. But surprisingly, Portsmith turned out to be a rather busy man and it had taken over a month to finally set up an interview. And unfortunately his only available time was today, right in the middle of Ginny's match.

To be fair, she shouldn't have been there at all. She should've been waiting up in her dorm, rehearsing what she planned to say to impress the man that would decide the fate of her career. But spending the last year at school without her closest friends had helped put things into perspective for Hermione, and no matter how important her career and the good she hoped to do, she knew supporting the people she loved was just as important.

She'd hoped the match would end quickly, that it'd be over by now, but each passing second made that hope seem bleaker and bleaker. And when Gryffindor scored their next goal, bringing them within ten points of Ravenclaw, she knew she could delay no longer.

Hermione turned to Molly who was the only member of the extended Weasley clan who'd been available today to come and watch her daughter play. "Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry, but I have to—"

"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley explained sweetly. "Ginny understands. Now go." Hermione smiled. Perhaps even better than Ron coming out of the battle relatively unscathed or the birth of Victoire Weasley was the change these events had instilled in Mrs. Weasley. She was smiling again, seemingly happy, even cheerful as she proudly watched her daughter play. Hermione would've very much liked to have hugged the woman who was almost a second mother to her, but instead felt Molly give her a gentle push toward the castle. "Go on, and good luck."

Hermione nodded, dashing through the stands and up toward the castle at breakneck speed, running through the open castle doors and through the halls toward the staffroom, puffing breathlessly. _I suppose I'm a bit out of shape without Ron and Harry to chase after all the time_, she though wryly as she turned a corner and collided with something very warm and very solid.

"Oof," Hermione exclaimed, falling backward toward the stone floor when a long arm reached out and steadied her. "Thank you," Hermione gasped. "I mean I'm sorry. I was rushing and I thought everyone was down at the match and I'm late for a meeting and—"

"You really ought to watch where you're going," a familiar voice chuckled.

"Ron?" Hermione said, gaping at the tall, lanky redhead standing before her, still holding onto her tightly.

"Long time no see," he said, smiling brightly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Ron's eyebrow arched. "I didn't know I needed the Head Girl's permission to visit Hogwarts. Must be a new rule she made up. I hear she is rather bossy and controlling," he teased.

"What? No, there isn't any-I haven't-oh shut up," she told him as he started laughing at her.

"She should probably pay more attention to the rule about no running in the halls though. Someone's liable to get hurt."

As much as she didn't want to, Hermione felt her lips curling into a smile. "I'll be sure to inform her," she told him.

"Well don't worry, I won't tell on you. I hear she's pretty strict," he said, leaning close to whisper this last statement, causing gooseflesh to break out on her skin as she felt his warm breath on her neck, and she suppressed a shudder of pleasure.

She'd stayed all night in that hospital, waking in the morning with her head in Ron's lap to find him watching her in silence, a look somewhere between amusement and contentment on his face. She'd stammered an apology which he waved off, explaining that he didn't mind. Since she _was _his 'fiancée after all.'

At this, she'd turned cherry red and Ron had burst into laughter which soon turned into a gasping cough. Hermione had and rushed off to find a healer, happy to escape her embarrassment. After a different healer by the name of McCoy had examined Ron and given him his morning potions, she'd stayed there chatting quietly. And while they avoided any serious issues, she spent the entire day with him, talking about her exams or the shop, how George was apparently seeing Angelina Johnson now, anything to keep her there a little longer. And the longer she stayed, the more she got the feeling that Ron didn't mind, maybe even _wanted _her there as much as she wanted to stay.

And then Mrs. Weasley and George had shown up around lunchtime and she finally ran out of excuses to stay with him now that he had his family for company and she'd returned to Hogwarts, where she'd spent the next few hours ignoring Ginny's teasing requests to see her engagement ring while she caught up on the morning classes she'd missed.

"So what are you doing here?" Hermione told him, trying to recover from the effect his presence had on her.

Ron shrugged. "Came to see Ginny."

"But the match started ages ago."

"I needed to see the Headmaster."

"Headmistress, Ron," Hermione corrected him. "And Professor McGonagall is down at the match too with everyone else." Her eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious, noticing for the first time the large wrapped package under Ron's left arm. "What do you need to see her for anyway?"

Ron shrugged again. "I don't," he explained. Hermione wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily and opened her mouth to demand the truth when Ron spoke up. "And what about you? Where are you running off to in such a hurry? I'd guess the library, but I think you're on the wrong floor."

Hermione wanted to smack him, but his words reminded her that of her meeting. "Oh my gosh, I almost forgot. I'm sorry, but I-I have to go. I'm supposed to be in an interview right now."

She tried to move around Ron, but he held onto her arm. "Interview?" he questioned. "For what?"

"A job, Ronald. Now, if you please," she said, nodding down toward his hand.

"Oh, right," he said, releasing her. "Sorry. Well, I'd wish you luck, but I'm sure you don't need it," he told her, smiling.

Hermione looked into those blue eyes. "Well…it-it couldn't hurt, could it?" she asked hopefully.

"No I supposed it couldn't." They stood there awkwardly, looking at one-another, both of them with places to be, but neither wanting to leave.

"Look if you aren't—"

"I was wondering if—"

They'd both spoken at the same time, breaking off to smile. "You first," said Ron.

"I was just wondering," Hermione said hesitantly, "if you didn't have somewhere to be after the match, I thought maybe we could—"

"Yeah," said Ron. "I'd like that."

Hermione smiled in relief. "Then I'll see you in a bit?"

"Sure."

She turned to leave when Ron grabbed her arm again and she turned back, her eyes wide with surprise. Before she could question him, Ron had bent over and kissed her on the cheek. "Just in case," he whispered into her ear, sending a fresh wave of shivers down her spine. She watched him a moment as he headed down toward the pitch, before turning around and striding toward the staff room, feeling confident, like she'd just drank a vial of Liquid Luck. She only hoped Mr. Portsmith wouldn't take too long before giving her the job. She had another appointment after all, one she didn't plan on being late for.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The title of this chapter comes from the song "Give Me Another Chance" by Big Star off their album _#1 Record_.

I'm sorry if people are disappointed we didn't get to see the end of Ron's fight after he blacked out. But hey, at least Harry finally found out. Just so people know, chapter 27 will fill in Ron's perspective on some of the events on this chapter.


	27. CH26: Picture in a Frame

**A/N: **A round of applause for **ObsessedRHShipper, Amelia96, faultybooster, rhmac12, emmrupe4ever, riverina, selene86, HilaryWeasley, writemealetter, MsEan, onlyjune, Maria, Sarden, hptk, Snozberry, Rafolution, ShePotter, ack24, August, DeLoreanDC-12, Misy, August, Athenais777, HalfASlug, King's Ransom, Heronlove, sarahbeth, monkeybrains, HarryPotterLover, milan4ever, gemsawesome, FightClub18, ozzel1, Fred, Pre-Posterity, nellysh, Michael Ho, RyanRow02, BarbaraBriana, tabitoo, cleansweep21, VoiceOfSilence, peacock33, vlaovic, Sandrinha, oscarpaz00, EMD23, **and **nirdoodle **for your reviews, both positive or critical. And another round for everyone else reading, alert-ing, and favorite-ing this fic (we finally broke the 100 favorites mark!). I'm going to credit **riverina **with the 500th review and the dedication for this chapter as the true 500th reviewer used his/her review to mock and abuse another reviewer (not cool).

Since this chapter's a big shorter than usual, I'm going to stick this gigantic author's note here for anyone who still has issues with the characters accepting Hermione's behavior (aka the cheating).

Just to make it clear, there is a difference between accepting and forgiving someone's behavior. Cheating is something none of these characters see as acceptable, Hermione included. She might do it, and might justify it in her head, but ultimately she knows it's wrong. Think of it like this: Hermione setting canaries on Ron was NOT acceptable, Harry nearly biting Hermione's head off multiple times in OotP was NOT acceptable, Ron leaving them in the tent was NOT acceptable, regardless of circumstances. But all of these things were forgiven. Why? Because the others knew they were sorry, knew they regretted it, and chose to believe these mistakes were exceptions and not behaviors likely to be repeated.

I know everyone has different morals and beliefs in right and wrong, and some people think cheating is an unforgivable offense no matter what the circumstances. I respect that. For you, that means there is no hope of redemption for Hermione and I urge you to forget this story because I happen to think otherwise and so the ending will NOT be satisfying to you.

The issue of forgiveness is how someone goes about EARNING it. In my cockamamie mind, you earn forgiveness by being truly sorry and deeply regretting your actions. It's as simple as that. How else can you earn it? Did Ron 'earn' Harry's forgiveness by saving his life when he pulled him out of the frozen pond? Of course not, unless you think Harry would've sent Ron packing if Harry had kept his head and remembered to take the locket off before diving in after the sword (which in my opinion is ridiculous).

I urge people wanting Hermione to earn Ron's forgiveness to ask themselves how exactly is she supposed to do this? By letting Ron shag Verity? By not getting angry if he beds a hundred different women? By pining away in celibacy for ten years? By offering to do ANYTHING in exchange for forgiveness?

In my opinion, she can't. She just can't. None of these things will change what she's done or prove that she's truly sorry or that she will never do it again. It is up to Ron to decide if he wants to give Hermione another chance and put his heart at risk. Yes, whether he does or not will be based in part by Hermione's behavior since she's returned, but it's still his choice. Hermione can only prove herself deserving of his forgiveness and trust AFTER he gives it to her of his own free will. Yes, she needs to repent and feel guilty and avoid making the same mistake, but ultimately those are things she needs to do for her own sake more than Ron's

Again, these are my opinions. They make sense to me, but I don't know if anyone else will agree. And that's fine, but if you don't like my opinions, I'm afraid to tell you that my stories are full of nothing BUT my opinions on things. Disagree all you want, but they're not going to change.

Finally, thanks as always to my beautiful beta **superfan24**.

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><p><strong>Chapter 26: Picture in a Frame<strong>

_3 May, 1998_

Ron carefully extracted his limbs from Hermione's sleeping form and slowly moved off the couch in the Gryffindor common room. He felt a pang of guilt at not waking her, but his sense of relief that she had finally managed to fall asleep pushed it aside. _At least one of us deserves some rest_, he though jealously. It actually hurt him physically to leave her there. He'd practically attached himself to her hip since Dumbledore's funeral a year ago, and hadn't left her side once during the battle. But thoughts weighed heavily on his mind, and there were questions he needed answers to, and he knew there was only one place, one _person _whose brain trumped Hermione's. So he walked across the room, and with one last look at her sleeping form, climbed through the portrait hole.

It was a miracle, really, that anyone could sleep at a time like _this_, mere hours after the entire world had changed. Ron's own mind had certainly not stopped racing since Harry had explained everything to him and Hermione following Voldemort's defeat. Harry's explanations had only lead to more questions, none of which, Ron knew, Harry would be able to answer, and it was driving him crazy.

_I wonder if this is what Hermione feels like all the time,_ Ron though with a grin. Of course, Hermione was usually the one with the answers, not the questions, and on the rare occasion when she didn't know the answer to something, she wouldn't rest until she found it. Which, incidentally, was exactly what Ron was doing at that very moment. _She'd probably have kittens if I told her she was rubbing off on me, _he thought bemusedly.

It was a surprisingly short walk, but Ron couldn't help but notice how Hogwarts seemed so strange to him. His memories of the place usually included a great deal of noise and chatter from students or the antics of Peeves. But right now, the only memories that came to him were of the times when he, Harry, and Hermione were sneaking around at night on some concocted mission, and of the many patrols he had conducted with Hermione as Prefects. Everyone else was downstairs sleeping in the Great Hall or in the nearby classrooms, having been told by McGonagall it was safest to stay close in case any Death Eaters remained in the castle. Of course, Harry had wanted to be alone after everything, and Ron had told his parents that he and Hermione would stay with him. He had expected resistance, at least from his mother, but she had been uncharacteristically withdrawn, consumed no doubt by thoughts of her duel with Bellatrix and the loss of Fred.

At this thought, Ron felt his chest tighten, his throat constricting in on itself, but pushed it away. He knew there would be a time for grief—he had already had a taste of it—but this was not it. He remembered Dumbledore's funeral, when everyone, himself included, had momentarily collapsed under the weight of sorrow: everyone except Harry. He had known that there was still work to be done and managed to remain strong for the sake of others, and Ron knew this was his turn.

In what seemed like no time at all, Ron arrived at the fallen gargoyle statue and the staircase leading to the Headmaster's Office. As he climbed, he worried that he might find McGonagall at the top, but his fear was alleviated the moment he walked through the door and found the room exactly as he had last seen it hours earlier.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. I must say I'm a bit surprised, though not at all displeased, to see _you _here." Ron turned toward the source of the voice to look into the face of Albus Dumbledore.

"You…you are?" Ron croaked, his voice rather dry. Ron was suddenly very aware of the fact that he had never had a one-on-one conversation with Dumbledore, or even been in a room alone with him. _Technically you still aren't_, a voice very much like Hermione's reminded him. _It's only a portrait. It's not really Dumbledore_.

"Perhaps I would have been more correct in saying I am a bit surprised to see you here alone. I assumed Ms. Granger would be the one with a few lingering questions, though I had guessed you would be accompanying her."

Dumbledore was smiling and Ron felt a bit of his nervousness dissipate. Nevertheless, he didn't really know how to answer the Headmaster's implied question. "I ah…well she was sleeping and I…err…didn't want to wake her," Ron said feebly.

Dumbledore continued smiling. "It is good to see that your generation has not completely lost its sense of chivalry. And as I am sure your sense of duty to her is causing you a bit of a crisis in leaving her side, I shall not delay you longer than necessary, so," Dumbledore paused, his blue eyes twinkling, "what can I do for you?"

"Well it's like you said. I have a few questions…sir" Ron added, finally remembering his manners.

"And you've most certainly earned the right to have them answered, my boy."

After a moment, Ron realized he was expected to speak. Suddenly all of the thoughts that had plagued him for hours were gone from his mind. Without thinking, he spoke the first word that came to mind. "Snape."

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore amended.

"Yeah. Him."

"I presumed that Harry had already informed you of Professor Snape's actions."

"Yes."

"And the motives behind them?"

Ron hesitated a moment, then nodded.

"Then perhaps a bit more clarity is needed for me to understand what exactly it is you wish to know."

Ron thought a moment. He really wasn't sure why Snape's name had popped into his head. He hadn't really given Snape much thought even after Harry's explanation of all he'd seen in the Pensieve. Certainly there were more important things to discuss.

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore spoke. "Perhaps what you want to know is why Professor Snape has more to do with some other questions you hold, questions that pertain very little to your former teacher?" Not really understanding what that meant, Ron simply nodded, hoping this would cause Dumbledore to continue talking and prevent himself from having to speak. "Then might I suggest a look inside my Pensieve to help those questions take shape. I believe it has not been disturbed since Harry placed Professor Snape's memories inside it earlier.

Ron looked around and saw the stone basin and its swirling silvery contents set atop Dumbledore's desk. He suspected Dumbledore knew what he was doing by suggesting such a thing, but was a bit hesitant to go diving into the mind of a man he'd spent the last seven years loathing on a level only reserved for Malfoy…and Krum.

"Might I suggest, as this is presumably your first time using a Pensieve, that you not actually enter the memories themselves, but only view them from above? While this will not give you the full, ah, experience, it will be far easier to extract yourself whenever you feel you've seen enough."

Ron looked back to Dumbledore's portrait and felt a great sense of relief at knowing Dumbledore understood his hesitation. Finally, Ron walked over to the Pensieve, the silver white contents swirling and, keeping a firm grip on the desk with both hands, stuck is face into the basin.

Ron watched it all. He saw the child Snape with Harry's mother and another girl who was presumably Harry's aunt. He heard Snape quickly answer questions about his family, heard him being called a freak, saw his first encounter with Sirius and Harry's father, themselves meeting for the first time on the Hogwarts Express reminding him very much of his and Harry's own first meeting. He watched Snape and Lily sorted into different houses, saw them fighting, arguing as best friends even as Snape's eyes clearly shone, practically screamed, with the desire for more, a feeling Ron knew all too well. He watched as Snape uttered that unforgiveable word with such venom that he made Malfoy's insults sound like sweet nothings whispered to a lover, saw him genuinely remorseful and asking Lily's forgiveness. And then Snape was before Dumbledore begging, pleading with him, offering him _anything _in return to save Lily, to save Harry, to fix Snape's greatest mistake. And then he heard the wailing of Snape's cries, reminding him strangely of Fawkes' lament, despite containing none of the latter's beauty. At this Ron nearly pulled his face back from the Pensieve just to escape hearing Snape's anguish, to escape feeling pity for this horrible man. It was too awful to see, too…familiar.

But though he shut his eyes, Ron continued to listen. He heard Snape promise to give his life to protect Harry, to protect the son of the woman he loved, the son of the man he hated, heard him swear to risk maiming his own soul in order to spare Draco's, and to keep Dumbledore from suffering. He listened to Snape's weakened protests as he learned Harry was to die after all, after everything Dumbledore had promised him. And when Ron heard Snape cast what he knew to be the silver doe that had led him to Harry, he opened his eyes, finally feeling it was safe to look again. The remaining memories rushed by: Snape giving Mundungus the idea that had allowed Harry's escape, Snape trying not to maim but to defend George, Snape crying over Lily's signature and photo, Snape refusing to hear Hermione be called Mudblood, Snape leaving to bring Harry the sword that Ron used to destroy his own demons. And then nothing.

Ron pulled back from the Pensieve feeling exhausted, as if he had just run a marathon, and collapsed onto the floor.

It did not seem possible. When Harry had told him, it had been hard to come to grips with everything he had ever known and suspected of Snape, but Ron had believed the story. Harry had no reason to lie. But now that he had seen and heard the proof of it all, the whole thing seemed infinitely more fantastic.

Snape had been evil. Ron was sure of that. While a certain amount of blame could be heaped on his upbringing, it did not excuse Snape's interest in the dark arts. Sirius himself had proved that one was capable of rising above circumstance and one's upbringing. Lily had been right to question Snape as to why he did not call her Mudblood. That was what he thought of Muggle-borns. And certainly no one had made Snape become a Death Eater and serve Voldemort. He didn't even have Malfoy's excuse of having his loved ones' lives hanging over his head. No, Snape had loved the dark arts and had been as twisted by them as Voldemort himself. And yet…

And yet Ron felt moisture on his cheeks. He was crying: crying for Snape. Hastily, Ron swiped at his eyes with his shirtsleeve, hoping Dumbledore had not yet noticed his emergence from the Pensieve. But when he looked over to the portrait, he found the headmaster looking down at him, his face unreadable. Ron stood up.

"Please, take your time Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore quietly. "But if I may be so bold, might I ask you the favor of collecting Professor Snape's memories and hold onto them for safekeeping? I am not sure if they will be of much use in the future, but I am sure he would prefer that they not sit about to be perused by anyone."

Ron nodded and, picking up the flask Hermione had conjured hours earlier, moved back toward the stone Pensieve. "You will need your wand to draw them out," said Dumbledore from behind him. Ron pulled Pettigrew's wand from his pocket and looked at it. He'd been using the wand for a month now, since he'd lost his own at Malfoy Manor, and though it didn't work as well has his old willow wand, it seemed to fit him. This thought filled Ron's mouth with bile. The wand of a _traitor _suited him. And why shouldn't it? He too was a traitor, wasn't he? He'd forsaken his friends, turned his back on them when they'd needed him most. Sure, he'd come back, just as in the end Pettigrew had his moment of regret which spared Harry's life and cost him his own, but that didn't absolve either of them of their sins.

Ron touched the tip to the silvery memories. As he drew the wand away, the silver threads came with it and carefully he dropped them into the flask and stoppered it, before finally putting both the memories and the wand away, though he could still feel the weight of it against his side.

"I believe I can speak on Severus's behalf and offer you thanks. Now then, shall we continue?"

Ron had almost forgotten that he had not come to Dumbledore's office to see Snape's memories but to ask questions. It felt like as if he had already been there for days, though he knew only a short time had passed.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Ron's earlier confusion vanished, and questions came to him clearly as if he'd used a summoning charm on them. "Sir, if you think Snape—sorry, Professor Snape," Ron corrected as Dumbledore opened his mouth, "wouldn't want these memories seen by just anyone, why did you allow me to look at them? I mean, he didn't much like me, and he certainly didn't owe my Mum anything like he did Harry's."

"No, Professor Snape did not seem to care much for you, and if he were being truly honest I believe Severus would admit his dislike was most undeserved. You, Mr. Weasley, have the often unfortunate fate of being Harry Potter's best friend, which has earned you many unfair comparisons, not only to Harry himself, but to Sirius as well. And I believe we both know Professor Snape's feelings toward Harry's godfather. But to answer you, I allowed you to see these memories because of another comparison you yourself might make."

"You mean me and Snape?" Ron tried to inject his usual amount of vehemence into his words, but somehow he could not muster the energy to do so.

"You seem displeased," Dumbledore stated quietly.

"Am I supposed to be proud of the fact that you just compared me to a murderer, a traitor?" Again, Ron's voice failed him, and he was forced to settle for simply looking outraged.

"Actually I have not yet voiced any opinion on the matter. I simply inquired as to whether you had recognized Severus' traits in another person. You were the one to connect him with yourself."

Ron scowled. Of course he had. From the moment he had seen Snape and Lily at school together, he had seen himself: a greasier, slimier, smellier version of himself. "And I'm supposed to be proud of that?"

"Aren't you?" asked Dumbledore, his voice still patient. "Have you not just seen how vital Professor Snape was in defeating Tom Riddle, felt what he had to suffer through, watched him in fact help you return and help save Harry yourself?"

Yes, Ron certainly recalled that part very clearly. Seeing a chance to escape this talk of how he and Snape were not so different, Ron spoke up. "Professor, that reminds me. The Deluminator—"

Dumbledore's portrait held up a hand for silence. "In a moment, Mr. Weasley. I do in fact see a likeness between you and Severus. You are both flawed Mr. Weasley. Not an uncommon similarity, as most of us, myself included, have our blemishes and black spots. But to be more specific, you and Severus are both flawed due to your own thoughts and actions. While these sorts of flaws are often more damaging in the long run than the wounds others inflict upon us, they have the distinct advantage of being completely treatable." Ron was following Dumbledore's words closely but felt very lost once again as the headmaster continued. "Because you have caused yourself this damage, you are the only one capable of fixing it, at any time of your choosing. But as much as you are like Severus, you hold another advantage, one that he does not. Your best, Mr. Weasley, is the very essence of your being, your deepest self, whereas Severus had to shed everything he was, everything he'd ever known, in order to find his best. In short, while Severus had to become an entirely different person to accomplish what he did, you merely need to be true to yourself."

Suddenly the strength that Ron had been lacking since the Pensieve returned and something inside him snapped. "BUT I WASN'T," he shouted at Dumbledore's portrait, his voice shrill. "I LEFT THEM. I BETRAYED THEM. THEY BOTH ALMOST DIED BECAUSE I LEFT. SNAPE DID ALL OF THOSE THINGS BECAUSE HE LOVED LILY EVEN AFTER HE'D LOST HER, AFTER SHE WAS DEAD. BUT HERMIONE WAS RIGHT THERE AND I DIDN'T…I couldn't even…"

Ron voice cracked and trailed off, unable to finish the thought, unable to say what was truly bothering him. He wasn't angry that Dumbledore thought he was like Snape; Ron was angry because Snape, of all people, had been better than him. Snape had betrayed the woman he loved, but he had done it unknowingly. And he had spent his life making up for it by keeping Harry safe despite the fact that Harry was a living reminder that Lily had not loved him, that she had loved another. Snape had changed everything about himself, given up everything he'd ever enjoyed to defend a boy he hated.

But Ron felt his betrayal was worse. He had left Hermione and Harry, and had done so willingly. He could pass blame onto the locket for saying those things to Harry in the tent, but it hadn't been around his neck when he ignored Hermione's cries not to leave, it hadn't been whispering in his ear as he Disapparated away, fully expecting never to see either of his best friends ever again.

What had Dumbledore said? That his best side was the one that came most naturally to him? And yet look how eager he had been to toss it aside and leave, how easy it was to ignore what he knew was right and focus only on the pain inside himself. In the end, his love for Hermione, his love for both her and Harry, hadn't been enough to give him the resolve to fight the Horcrux.

Dumbledore waited until it was clear Ron was finished speaking. At last he spoke, still in his soft, even voice, and at the first word, Ron's head lifted, for it was spoken not as a teacher or mentor or guardian, but as a father. "Ron. I will not go so far as to ask you as to why you left Harry and Hermione during your quest. While I have my suspicions, even if you yourself explained the entire ordeal to me, I would not come close to grasping the full scope of the situation. However I will ask you whether you resolved all of the contributing factors before deciding you wanted to return to them."

Ron thought a moment. Of course the Horcrux fog had begun to lift as soon as he'd Apparated, and his escape from the snatchers had certainly helped clear his head and come to grips with what he'd done but…no, he couldn't really say that he knew everything the Horcrux had told him was a lie. After all, he'd had those thoughts long before he'd ever heard of Horcruxes. _Hell, I'm still not sure that Mum doesn't prefer Harry to me_, he thought. And while he'd never really expected to return to find Hermione snogging Harry if he ever managed to find his way back to them, even now, after she'd kissed him, he still didn't see how she could pick him over Harry. It seemed as impossible as…as…

_As impossible as Snape devoting his entire life to protecting Harry and defeating Voldemort_, Ron thought bitterly.

"No, I hadn't," he answered Dumbledore finally.

"And yet you returned."

"I had to."

"And yet you still punish yourself for it. Even though it was quite clear Harry and Hermione appeared not to be bothered by it or you in the least when the three of you were here earlier."

"But _I_ am. I still left. I know it and I know they know it." And after a moment, Ron added, "And you knew it too, before it even happened."

"As I have often told Harry, I merely guessed, and just happened to be correct. But as we have come to it rather naturally, now, I believe, would be an opportune time to address your earlier, unanswered question.

"The Deluminator which you now possess was one of my earliest inventions and, in the hopes of not sounding like a conceited old man, is among my proudest achievements."

As Dumbledore spoke, Ron withdrew the Deluminator from his pocket absentmindedly and began to fiddle with it. It had become such a comfort in the past year, even before he'd used it to find Harry and Hermione in the Forest of Dean. "If you recall, I invented a second usage for the Patronus Charm; a one-way means of communication that would be able to find the intended recipient regardless of location or other magical interference. Rather useful, but not without its drawbacks. While I could send information or warnings to others, I would still be incapable of knowing where they were and thus be prevented from bodily coming to their aid. And I realized that the solution was in the source of the magic. A Patronus, as you know, is one of the strongest and purest forms of magic. This is due to the fact that it draws its strength from happiness. But like happiness, the strength of a Patronus can waver. And unfortunately our happiness is often most likely to waver during times when a Patronus is most needed."

Here, Dumbledore paused a moment, as if preparing to do something he'd rather not. "Might I presume, Mr. Weasley, that you are aware, like Harry, of my family history?" Ron nodded. "Good. What you probably are not aware of however is the epitaph on my mother's and sister's gravestone: 'Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.' It is a quote from a Muggle religious text, and the inspiration behind my favorite invention. As I have already explained, I needed something that could outperform a Patronus, and I believed the answer lay in the source of the magic. I quickly realized that if I wanted to test the limits of magic, I would need a source that knew no limits." Here Ron knew what was coming. He had heard Harry hurtle the word at Voldemort hours before, heard Harry complain about his 'power the Dark Lord knows not' for years. "_Love_. Of course, in order for it to work, the Deluminator is tied only to the absolute strongest love one possesses for another, just as a Patronus can only be conjured with the happiest of memories."

"For myself, I was connected with Hogwarts. With my family gone, this school and its students were all my greatest treasure. Perhaps you have on occasion wondered how I managed to return to Hogwarts at the precise moment Harry was saving the Philosopher's Stone from Tom Riddle and Quirrell, or that I knew to send Fawkes to Harry in the Chamber of Secrets when I myself had never seen the room? The answer is the Deluminator, and it turned out to be quite useful, wouldn't you say?"

Ron was flabbergasted by everything Dumbledore had just explained. The Deluminator was powered by love, was stronger than Patronuses, that Dumbledore had loved Hogwarts and each individual student as much as he himself loved Hermione…and Harry. This thought returned Ron to his senses. "But Professor. I wanted to come back to Harry and Hermione almost immediately but I had to wait two months, and even then I could only find them because Hermione said my name."

Perhaps because Ron had finally calmed down, Dumbledore was finally smiling again. "Yes, well, like you, your love is still very, very young, Mr. Weasley. You had enough doubt in your heart to prevent the Deluminator from working correctly. But as soon as you heard Ms. Granger call your name, that doubt vanished, did it not?"

"No. Not exactly. I mean it did sort of feel like, well, like she'd-she'd just told me that-that she loved me." Ron whispered the last few words before allowing his voice to return to a normal volume. "And I was really happy for the first time since I'd left. But I wouldn't say that I didn't have my doubts. I mean when I got back the Horcrux still…It was more like her voice reminded me what love was supposed to mean, that it's supposed to be unconditional, and if she was saying my name after everything that had happened, they probably still needed me on some level after all. And I couldn't say no to that." Suddenly aware of everything he'd just said, Ron turned a most brilliant shade of scarlet, and Dumbledore mercifully addressed his next statement to the bottom of his portrait.

"Yes, yes, that would be much more accurate. Well, while I believe in time you will find that as your doubts vanish and your love grows, bringing your heart to where your treasure is will be but the least of what the Deluminator—and yourself—are capable of."

Hearing these things gave Ron the strength to speak his last nagging thought. "But you still knew I would be the one to leave. I mean I know Harry told me that you also knew I'd want to go back to them, but…couldn't you have just told me not to listen to the Horcrux, to stay with them no matter what?"

Dumbledore chuckled and returned his eyes to Ron's. "Well that might have been the easier solution, had I correctly guessed as to the nature in how your presence could waver from Mr. Potter's and Ms. Granger's side."

"You see Mr. Weasley, while I had my suspicions that each Horcrux had its own unique enchantments and defenses, never could I have accounted for every possible scenario. And while the Deluminator aided you in overcoming a Horcrux, my intention in bequeathing it to you was instead meant to help you overcome a Hallow. The Elder Wand to be precise." Dumbledore chuckled again. "I know you have suffered several lifetimes worth of unfair comparisons already Mr. Weasley, yet here I am subjecting you to your second of the evening."

"The danger I saw in you is the same danger I saw in Harry and the same as the danger I knew resided within myself: the temptation of the Hallows. Harry I believed to be the most like me. I believed he would covet the Resurrection Stone, and so I made it impossible for him to attain it, until he was beyond the possibility of succumbing to it. Personally, I might have lost myself to it had I not recklessly subjected myself to the powers of the ring Horcrux by accident in my haste to possess the Stone.

"But in you, I saw the temptation for the Wand. My only defenses around it consisted of my plan with Severus, which as you know failed quite miserably, and on Miss Granger, who succeeded most admirably in delaying both you and Harry. Still, I had no idea when or who could end up with the Elder Wand, and I feared that if it fell into your hands, you could lose yourself to it. And so I gave you the Deluminator as a failsafe against that possible outcome. As I see no desire in you to disarm Harry and claim the wand for your own, I offer you an apology in suspecting you to share the same weaknesses as a feeble old man."

Ron couldn't help but smile. True, he had ached with longing when Harry announced his decision to give up the Elder Wand, but he hadn't really thought about taking it for himself, not even for a moment. And more importantly, he now knew Dumbledore hadn't given him the Deluminator because he thought he would turn out to be a traitor or a coward or anything. Dumbledore had only suspected Ron might make the same foolish mistake he'd made himself in his youth.

"I believe you understand the connection Harry shared with Tom Riddle through his scar, and that at times it caused him pain?"

Ron nodded, confused at the change in the conversation. "It-it won't bother him anymore, right? Not with Vol-Voldemort gone?"

"Well I cannot say for certain. The connection between them is gone, of course, but only time will tell if it will ever bother him again. After all, it was that which allowed Tom access to Harry's mind. And even though he is gone, there is the chance that the wound might still be reopened in the future. Scars often run deep, and some pain us forever."

Ron looked down at his arms, bearing his own faint scars from the fight at the Ministry. A thought suddenly struck him, and Ron felt the weight he knew he would carry with him for the rest of his life lessen. "Sir, is that-could that be why the Horcrux affected me more than the others? I mean, Madam Pomfrey said thoughts could leave deeper scars than almost anything and I've still got mine from those brains," Ron said excitedly.

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "Very good, Mr. Weasley. Thoughts _do_ often leave the deepest of scars and it is likely that the locket used yours to its advantage. However, the scars you bear on your arms are not the ones I'm referring to."

Ron looked at him confused. "Sir?"

"_Think_, Ronald. If thoughts cause the deepest of scars, wouldn't your own thoughts be the ones to leave their mark on your heart? Have you not spent years tearing yourself down? Don't your words this last hour prove that you continue to injure yourself further, even now?"

Ron's face fell. He knew he'd been stupid. For a moment, he'd allowed himself to hope he'd found an excuse, a reason beyond his control, for why he had given in to the Horcrux and not the others. But he knew Dumbledore was right.

"These are the scars for which there is no easy remedy, no treatment a wand or potion can give you to make yourself whole again. But this is not a bad thing, Mr. Weasley. Now that you know the wounds you've inflicted on yourself, you can begin to mend them. But you must stop being so hard on yourself. If I know one thing about you, it's that no one could be a better friend to Harry and Miss Granger than the man standing before me."

"But I've failed them so many times. I've let them down when they were counting on me." Ron bowed his head. "_I_ could be better. I should be." He knew he sounded like a broken record, but Ron couldn't help it.

The sound of Dumbledore stifling his laughter caused Ron to look up again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley. That was rather inappropriate of me. I only find it amusing that you believe anything you just said refutes my statement."

"But I—"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, cutting him off. "You _can_ be better. But now you know that even at your worst you will always return to them, always be there to save them. How many others can say the same, even when at their best?" Ron didn't answer and Dumbledore continued. "None of us is perfect Ronald, which is why all of us sometimes fail, because our failures help teach us who we want to be and what we are truly capable of."

"Are you ever tired of being right?" Ron asked, smiling again, believing the truth in Dumbledore's words.

Dumbledore chucked. "Most pleasantly, no. Seeing as I am right so very often, it is quite difficult remembering any triumphs. What lingers are the mistakes for they are fewer and more grievous by far. I'm sure you understand that better than most."

Ron's happiness was temporarily interrupted as Dumbledore spoke again. "I'd like you to remember what we've just talked about, Mr. Weasley. Remember that you, like Severus, feel love for someone else. And that it was love that allowed you to rise above your desires and fears and shortcomings and meet the challenges you both faced, whatever the cost." Ron nodded. "Now, unless you have any other questions, I believe dawn is approaching and I do not wish to keep you."

"Just one more, actually, Professor." Dumbledore's eyebrow rose, and Ron felt incredibly childish in having saved this question for last, for still needing to ask it at all. But the headmaster nodded so Ron continued. "Why did you make me a prefect fifth year instead of Harry?"

Dumbledore smiled one last tired smile, before answering. "Ah, yet another of my mistakes that worked out for the best in the end." The former headmaster took off his glasses and wiped them on his robe. "At the time, I believed Harry far too overwhelmed to be handed even more responsibility."

The old Ron, perhaps even the Ron of an hour ago would've been upset, disappointed, ashamed, that he'd only been made prefect because Harry wasn't really an option. But the new Ron understood. He'd named himself as Harry's second that day seven years ago when Malfoy had challenged Harry to a duel, perhaps even before then. It was a role he himself had chosen and he knew there was no-one to blame for it but himself. But instead of hating this burden, he finally wanted to wear it like a badge of honor with more pride than he'd ever had for the little silver badge he'd been given fifth year.

"Despite not being very well acquainted with you personally—a sincere regret that I hope has been somewhat rectified this evening—I had seen enough to know that you possessed the same admirable qualities that made your older brothers qualified for the post. And furthermore, while Minerva McGonagall had made it clear that Miss Granger was doing a fine job in pushing you toward 'achieving your potential,' I decided it wouldn't hurt to speed the process along. In fact, it was Professor McGonagall that insisted you be given the position as she believed you were the only who capable of—ahem—_curbing _Miss Granger's proclivity to, ah, overstep her bounds."

Ron actually let out a laugh at this, a weight he'd been carrying for months finally lifted. "Thanks Professor. For everything. Really." It wasn't much Ron knew, but what could you say to a man who had done so much for the world?

"It was my pleasure, my boy."

"And Snape's memories?"

"Professor Snape, Mr. Weasley. And I believe you'll know when and where to pass them along. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe there is a portrait on the second floor of a fine maiden with a wonderful pair of socks whom I might be able to persuade to swap them for my hat." And with that, Dumbledore turned and vanished from his portrait.

…

Ron knew he should look in on his family, but for the moment he wasn't quite ready for the challenges he knew lay before him. He knew they would need him; his parents, his brothers, Ginny. After a lifetime feeling neglected he knew, without even exchanging a word with them, how important he was to that family. It just didn't work without all of them there. Each one was important, essential to the whole, like pieces in a chess set; they all had their parts to play, their own strengths and weaknesses. And it didn't matter if he was just a pawn by comparison to the rest of his siblings or the knight. Each peace was there to protect the others, and there could be no greater duty in life than protecting the people you loved. His parents had taught him that from the moment he was born, his uncles Fabian and Gideon had taught him that through their sacrifice in the last war, Dumbledore and Sirius and even Snape had taught him that in the way they lived and died. Lily and James had taught him that, even Percy had taught him that by returning in the end to fight alongside his family.

And of course, Harry and Hermione had taught him the same thing every day for the last seven years. It didn't matter if Harry wasn't really his brother, if Hermione loved him back the way Ron knew he loved her; they were his family, stuck together now and forever, and he knew that no matter what the future held that would never change.

In the grey light of morning, Ron pulled out the Deluminator as he sat, looking out on the black lake under their favorite tree. It fit his hand so well, like it belonged there. And maybe it did. So what if it had belonged to Dumbledore first? His old wand had belonged to Ollivander for years before Ron came and claimed it, but it was still Ron's wand. And now he had Wormtail's. And Dumbledore had said…

No. It didn't matter what Dumbledore had said. The Deluminator didn't belong to Ron any more than the love that worked through it. Some things—like his family, like Hermione—he simply didn't, couldn't, deserve. But for once, it wasn't Ron's self-pity that inspired the thought. Actually he felt quite pleased with himself. He'd brought down Greyback, fought off Dementors, Acromantulas, and trolls, had punched Draco Malfoy, been the one to find a way to not only destroy the Horcruxes but also unlocked the Chamber of Secrets, and kissed Hermione Granger. No, if there had ever been a day Ron could be proud of himself, it had been yesterday.

But there were just some things that you could never be worthy of, no matter how hard you tried, no matter what you did. And love was one of those things. It was a gift, no more no less, borrowed from others. And one day that love would have to be returned. So in the meantime, it needed to be kept safe. And there, sitting alone, Ron Weasley thought about everything Dumbledore had said. He felt his eyes constantly drawn toward the Forbidden Forest, to the place where he knew the Resurrection Stone sat, somewhere, waiting.

He understood Harry's and Dumbledore's desire for it now. If he had it, he could see Fred again, have him back; tell him the things Ron had always been too embarrassed to admit.

It was tempting, and Ron knew the longer he stayed at Hogwarts, the harder it would be to fight his desire to go in search of it. He knew when he left the school he would never want to go back. Even when Hogwarts reopened, he couldn't stay there for another year trying to ignore the call of the Stone. He could only hope Harry wouldn't want to come back. Him and Hermione.

_Hermione._

He'd kissed her today. _Or was it yesterday? _he wondered. He didn't know how many kisses they'd shared on that couch before they'd finally drifted off to sleep, but he knew he had enough memories to fuel a lifetime of Patronuses.

Lying there on that couch a part of him had wanted to tear her clothes off, to snog her senseless, to do things to and with her he'd been dreaming about since before he even knew he fancied her. But the other side of him—the side that had won—had held back. Instead, he'd been soft, hesitant, as if it was his first kiss, as if each one was a first kiss.

Ron wasn't a romantic. He knew Hermione had kissed Krum first, had kissed McLaggen too, and his first kiss had been with Lavender. But in that common room, he'd let himself forget the others, forget Hermione launching herself at him in the heat of battle and capturing his lips for the first time, in case it was the last time, the last chance, they had. And in a way, he knew he would always remember those unsure, unhurried kisses as his _real _first kiss.

Ron's fingers touched his lips involuntarily, remembering how she tasted, how soft her lips were, remembered the cracks and crinkles from their poor diets and small cuts from flying debris. The imprint of Hermione was burned there, forever, and he knew he would never speak a word without whispering of what they'd already shared.

Like now. He could feel her laughter in the air, taste the scent of her hair, smell the warmth of her skin, and see the softness of her eyes. He knew she was there without even looking.

Ron turned. "There's my girl," he called out, his smile lighting up both their faces in the dark light of morning.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The title of this chapter comes from the song "Picture in a Frame" by Tom Waits on his album _Mule Variations_.

Well that was the last of Ron's flashback chapters and obviously leads us right into chapter 2 (the very first flashback chapter we saw). Just one more flashback for Hermione to go! Two things. One, I absolutely HATE the fact that JKR wrote Dumbledore telling Harry he would've been prefect if he wasn't so busy at the end of OotP. Even now, it's the one time in all the books where I want to just scream at Jo and accuse her of perpetuation Ron!Bashing. Wasn't it enough that EVERYONE expected Harry to get the job, Ron and Hermione included? I'll never understand why she felt that clarification was necessary since Harry really couldn't have cared less about being prefect at that point AND it took away Ron's first time beating Harry at something. So I couldn't resist making Dumbledore eat some humble pie here and admit that Ron proved to be the right choice in the end.

And second, while I love Ron (somehow some reviewers still seem to doubt this), I also wanted to make it clear that Harry is still the hero, even if he hasn't had a big presence in this fic. He's going to be the hero of my series, and that's not going to change just because I prefer to write about his side-kick(s). Ron is a hero, and he might be THE hero in the eyes of Harry and Hermione, but he choose to become Harry's second back when he was eleven, and I think it's a role that, by the end of the series, he is proud to have and wouldn't want to change it for anything.


	28. CH27: More Than This

**A/N: **All thanks to my favorite beta, **superfan24**. I am helpless without her.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27: More Than This<strong>

_7 May, 1999_

"_Ronald Weasley_! What do you think you are doing? Get back to bed _this instant_!"

"Fuck," Ron muttered quietly, knowing he'd been caught. He turned around slowly. "Hey Mum—"

"Don't you 'Hey Mum' me, young man," shouted Mrs. Weasley, hands on her hips as she glowered at him, somehow appearing much taller than her actual height. "You know full well you're not supposed to be moving around! You've only been out of the hospital for two days!"

"But I was _hungry_," Ron explained. "And how could I ignore the delicious smell of your cooking?" he said, trying to butter her up.

"And it never occurred to you to _ask _me to bring you something?"

"I'm not a bloody cripple, Mum. I'm fine, really."

"You're fine when the healer tells me you're fine. Until then you're not to leave your room. And watch your language," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"But it's _boring_," Ron complained. "Nothing to do but read all those books I got for Christmas. I haven't even got Quidditch to listen to on the wireless."

"I remember a time where I had to _drag _you out of bed every day…or afternoon rather. I would think you'd appreciate some time off. You've been working _far_ too hard lately. I'll have to have a word with your brother when he gets home tonight."

Ron wanted to laugh at the idea of his mum telling him he was working too hard. _Now there's a phrase I never thought I'd hear her direct at me_, he thought humorously. But he couldn't lie; it was…_nice_ to hear his mum say such things. Hell, it was nice to hear her say _anything_ after the last year.

It seemed like having a first time mother for a daughter in-law who needed lots of help was the best possible medicine for his mum. And he supposed having a son fresh out of St. Mungo's with strict orders not to lift a finger, let alone wave his wand, helped keep her busy as well.

"Mum, George is fine. He actually doesn't tell me what to do. He's barely there half the time."

"Exactly! He's off doing Merlin-knows-what while you're made to work day and night in that-that—" She broke off, obviously incapable of finding a word suitable to express her feelings on the joke shop. Ron knew she was proud of what Fred and George had accomplished with Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, and judging by her actions just now she was probably proud of him as well for the part he'd played in getting it up and running again, but he knew she couldn't help feel like her children should invest their energies in a better endeavor. She'd probably always feel that way, even if the shop made George richer than the Malfoys. After all, she _still _didn't completely approve of her husband's Muggle fascination after thirty years of marriage, or Charlie's career working with dragons.

Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit wrinkled. Lately Ron couldn't help but feel protective of George, sometimes to the point where he almost forgot George was still his _older _brother. It just seemed like everyone expected George to be back to normal now that he'd made it through the worst of his depression, to act as if nothing had happened, to forget that he'd lost Fred. Frankly Ron thought it a miracle that George found the strength to do _anything_. After all, there were days when Ron felt the exact same way, where the last thing he wanted to do was to get out of bed and face the world.

Of course, that was before he'd been ordered to stay there for a full week while he recovered from the fight at St. Mungo's.

Deciding any attempts to reason with his mum would be futile, Ron crept back upstairs, hoping she'd bring him some bacon sandwiches before she got distracted by something else or Fleur sent an owl with some small question about Victoire and sent her into a tizzy.

As he climbed back into bed Ron looked down at his arms. The curling rings of scars had faded once again. The healers had failed to give him any kind of explanation for why they'd flared up during the battle. Actually, they'd failed to explain just about anything. They'd told him the spells he'd used to fight the Lestranges, and their Inferi, had been abnormally strong and simply been the result of stress. They'd said it was quite common for witches and wizards to use levels of magic beyond their normal level in life-threatening situations, but Ron didn't buy it. For one, he'd been in dozens if not hundreds of life-threatening situations over the years by virtue of being Harry Potter's best mate and had _never _done anything similar to the level of the inferno he'd created in the stairwell. Sure, he'd always risen to the challenge, but it had been his focus and determination that seemed stronger in the past, not his wand work. And it still didn't explain the strange blue glow that all his spells had given off.

_Hermione could figure it out_, Ron thought, settling back into boredom. If she didn't know the answer, Hermione would run straight to the library and come back with the exact book to explain everything. Sure she might have to explain it a few times and talk really slowly before he understood, but still.

He'd wanted to ask her about it that morning in St. Mungo's when he woke up to find her lying with her head in his lap after having stayed by his side all night. But he'd known their time together was limited and hadn't wanted to waste it discussing magical theory. He'd just wanted a few hours where they could be Ron and Hermione again.

Ron did have a few theories about what had happened that day, and all of them lead back to Hermione. Well, to Harry and the rest of his family as well, but something told him Hermione was the key.

The bedroom door opened and his mum entered, carrying a tray of sandwiches and crisps. "Here you are dear. All your favorites."

"Thanks Mum," Ron said, pulling his thoughts away from a certain bushy-haired witch to concentrate on the food. He wolfed down an entire sandwich the moment she set the tray down, and shoved half of another in his mouth before he had time to breath. "Wuff dat?" he muttered around his breakfast.

She laid a copy of the Daily Prophet next to him on the bed. "Well you said you were bored, so I thought you'd like something to keep you occupied."

Ron swallowed. "But _reading_?" He devoured the rest of the second sandwich. "Iff naugh eggatly relafing."

"Well it's not like we have many options. I'd keep you company, but Fleur just Flooed and told me Victorie's a bit fussy and asked if I could go help calm her down." Ron suppressed a grin, guessing that his mum had interpreted Fleur asking for suggestions on how to calm her daughter down as a request to come over and _show _her how to do it. "You sure you'll be alright?" she asked, eyeing him anxiously.

This time Ron couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "I'll be _fine_ Mum. But I promise I'll send a Patronus if the bed sheets try and strangle me."

She smiled and laid a kiss on his forehead. "You're probably in more danger from choking on your food. Smaller bites please," she scolded maternally. "And _no _magic," she added as an afterthought.

As Ron watched her leave, he was thankful that his 'delicate condition' spared him from any of his mum's bone-crushing hugs. He picked up a third sandwich and after a short moment of inner turmoil, picked up the paper. _It's better than nothing_, he thought morosely. But a moment later Ron nearly spat out the piece of bacon he was chewing when he saw the headline on the front page of the _Prophet_. His eyes skimmed over the article, pausing only on the worst bits.

_George Weasley, owner and founder of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, a successful joke shop located in Diagon Alley tells all about his brother whose heroic efforts saved St. Mungo's hospital…'I couldn't ask for a better brother' says Mr. Weasley. "so humble, always ensures each customer gets his full attention and goes home satisfied, never gives me any lip'…'I know they already gave him the Order of Merlin for what he did in the war, but I reckon they might owe him a second after this'…'We actually just opened a second location in Hogsmeade, all Ron's idea'…Mr. Weasley went on to tell us how his seemingly unremarkable brother was not only the often overlooked rock on which Harry Potter could always count on, but fills the same role in their family, despite being the youngest of six—now five—children. 'I mean sure, he saved all those little babies and sick patients and healers. But it was our brother Bill and his wife and new daughter that Ron was willing to die for. Hell, he's the one who got the shop up and running again after the war single-handedly. I know he…he certainly helped me get back on my feet after we lost Fred'…A single tear escapes Mr. Weasley's eye and I give him a moment to compose himself, wondering if it's for the brother he's lost or the one who's never left his side._

It went on and on and the more Ron read, the angrier he grew, eventually shoving it aside. "Mum?" Ron shouted. "Mum? Still here?" There was no answer and he knew she'd already left for Shell Cottage. He grabbed his wand, planning to summonErrol, but laid it back down after a moment's consideration and picked up a quill instead. He hadn't performed any magic since leaving the hospital and technically wasn't supposed to use his wand for at least another week. _Even if I manage it alright, I might kill Errol anyway,_ Ron thought as he scribbled a letter off to his brother before getting up to go search for the elderly owl.

He had to wait three frustrating hours before George finally showed up, finding Ron waiting in the kitchen. "Hey little brother," George said as he entered the room. "Don't let Mum catch you out of bed or she'll strap you to the damn thing. Come to think of it, maybe I should volunteer my services," he said with a wide smirk.

Ron was in no mood for jokes, his insides boiling. "Did you get my note?" he growled through clenched teeth.

George nodded. "Unless some other family with an owl older than England has also started sending me fanmail. By the way I was thinking; we should really get Mum and Dad a new owl. I mean we could just give them one from the shop but I thought Mum might like it if we let her pick—"

"If you read it, then you should know I'm not in the mood," Ron barked, cutting him off.

George only grinned. "I don't know why you're acting so peeved. I thought you'd be pleased, actually."

"_Pleased? At what! This trash?"_ Ron exclaimed, picking up the Prophet and shoving it at George.

George read it over, or at least pretended to as he had to already know what it said. He looked up when he was finished, still grinning. "Well I may've exaggerated a little bit, especially that bit about you never giving me lip, but—"

"You make me sound like a tit!" Ron shouted, his blood boiling. "You didn't even tell me you were saying all this rubbish to the press!"

George held up his hands defensively. "Rubbish? All I did was tell them the truth. Besides, it's good business."

"What?" Ron asked, confused.

George looked at him, exasperated. "Did _you _actually read the damn thing?"

Ron looked affronted. "Of course I did."

George sighed. "Obviously not, or you would've noticed them mention the shop at least a dozen times. Come tomorrow we'll be swarming with fresh customers hoping to get a look at Ron Weasley: baby savior. But they'll leave with pockets full of WWW products and leave us with a register full of gold."

"Yeah," Ron said, still frustrated. "Yeah but you make me look like I'm full of it."

"What? No I haven't."

"Yes, you have. You know this is why Harry never does interviews. He hates this shite."

George just shrugged. "But you're not Harry."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You still get owls from fans right? Because of that article that came out last fall?"

Ron felt his ears heat up. "A few. Not-not every week or anything."

"So what's a few more?" George said jovially. "Look, I get that you and Harry and Hermione don't want to be famous. But that doesn't mean the rest of us shouldn't profit off it."

"I'd rather earn it."

"You have!" George explained, finally appearing serious. "Look Ron, you've done great work with the shop when I couldn't even be bothered to get out of bed most days. And I'll _always _be grateful. But…don't you think it's enough?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked.

"Ever since I came back to work I've noticed that you aren't happy. I'm mean it'd be hard not to. I'm not saying you complain or anything," George added hastily as Ron opened his mouth to protest, "but I've watched you. You act like one of those Muggle machines Dad's always on about, just going through the motions. Which would be great if you were a house-elf. But you're not."  
>"Look I don't know what it was like for you when I wasn't there. Maybe you did like it. I mean some of the stuff you came up with back then is brilliant. But you never want to talk about ideas for new products."<p>

"Well I-I let you handle that," said Ron hesitantly.

"Why? When Fred and I started the place it was a _partnership_. That didn't mean he did all the fun inventing and I handled the books and the boring stuff. It meant we did everything together. And at first I thought-well I thought that maybe that's what you wanted for us."

Ron's eyes widened in disbelief. "You want us to be partners?"  
>"Well it is called WEASLEYS' Wizard Wheezes, isn't it? As in more than one Weasley."<p>

Ron was flabbergasted. One of his biggest fears in starting the shop was thinking that George might see his efforts as trying to replace Fred, which was the _last _thing Ron wanted. Sure he and George were closer than they'd ever been, and Ron was glad for it, but not if it came at the expense of Fred's memory. But still, just the idea that George trusted him that much, wanted him to have an equal share erased all of Ron's earlier anger over the article.

"George, I don't think I could. I mean… I can't," Ron said.

Strangely, George only nodded. "I thought so."

"You're not disappointed?"

"Why would I be? But since we're not partners, that means I'm still your boss. And as your boss, I am pleased to say that you're fired."

"What? But you were just offering to promote me!"

"Yeah and you turned it down so I'm showing you the door."

"But why?"

"Because you don't _want _to stay in that shop forever. If you did, you would've taken the offer, but I know you aren't content with being just a shop clerk for the rest of your life."

"And that's a good reason to fire me?"

"No, a good reason is so that you don't have an excuse not to find something you actually _enjoy _doing."

Ron bit back a retort. "Like what? What am I supposed to do?"

"Anything!" George said, waving his arms in a sweeping gesture. "Follow your dreams."

"Easy for you to say," Ron grumbled. "No-one handed me a thousand Galleons to make my dreams a reality."

George frowned. "Is that what this is about? Money?" Ron shrugged. "Fine. How much am I paying you right now?"

Ron looked up. "You mean you don't know?"

George shrugged. "Not really. That's what I have you for, to take care of all the boring stuff."

"_Had_," Ron corrected. "Four-hundred Galleons a month," he said.

"And you've still got it?"

"Mostly," Ron said. "I mean I live _here_. What could I spend all that gold on?"

George nodded absentmindedly. "And how much am I paying myself?"  
>"A thousand."<p>

"That much?" George asked, looking boggled and Ron couldn't help but smirk. Only George could be rich and not even care _how rich_ he was.

"Well you are the owner."

"Okay, okay," George said. "Gimme a minute." He rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes in concentration. "I've got it. The shop opened in July, so that's been eight and a half months…and let's just round that up to nine for convenience…subtract your old salary…plus the two months you spent getting it ready before that…so that's….seventy-four hundred Galleons." George whistled. "Shite, that's a load of gold. Do we have that much to spare?"

"Not if you want to put a bid on that property in Paris."

"Fuck, I forgot about that. Hmm, maybe I shouldn't have fired you."

"Too late now," Ron said, grinning despite himself.

"Git," George said, grinning as well. Okay, okay, I'll pay you from my own vault."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes I do. Honestly, it doesn't even come close to what you've given me…" Both of them were silent for a moment.

"Did you really cry?" Ron asked finally.

"What?" George asked, confused. "Oh, you mean in the article? Yeah, of course I did."

"Really?"

"Thanks to a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Gum Drop Tear Drop," George confessed, grinning. They both laughed. "Look I know I just fired you and all, but there's one last thing I need you to do for the shop."

Ron groaned. "Please don't tell me you want me to come in just to let a bunch of strangers ogle me."

"Well…now that you mention it…" Ron socked him in the shoulder. "Kidding, kidding," George said as Ron hauled back for another punch. "Good thing I fired you; you definitely don't have the right sense of humor to work in a joke shop."

Ron rolled his eyes. "George…"

"Okay. I just need you to train a replacement."

"Replacement?"

"Well yeah. It's not like _I _want to start doing all that boring paperwork again."

"Why not offer Verity the job? I mean she knows how to do everything already. She practically runs the Hogsmeade store as it is."

"Hmm, good thinking. You don't think I'll have to give her a raise, do you?"

"She's worth it George."

"Bugger. Oh alright," George said, relenting. "Speaking of…how are things with Verity?" he asked, giving Ron a wink.

Ron felt something in his chest tighten. "Fine," he said flatly. "How're things with Angelina?"

"Great!" George said, not embarrassed in the least.

"You don't have to rub it in, y'know?"

"Alright, alright. Consider the matter dropped. I'm only trying to look out for my baby brother."

"Despite his words, Ron heard the sincerity in his brother's tone. "I know. Thanks George, really."

"Forget about it. So, what are you going to do now?"

"Dunno," said Ron. "What do you think I should do?"

"Honestly Ron, you could be a grand chess master or broom boy for the Chudley Cannons for all I care, so long as it makes you happy. What matters is what _you _think. So just ask yourself what you'd be doing if there'd been no war, if you'd finished your last year at Hogwarts and didn't need to come help me with the shop.

Ron clenched his jaw. He knew exactly what he'd be doing, or at least what he'd always wanted to do. The question was, was there still a place for him?

_18 May, 1999_

"Anyone in?" Harry asked, knocking on Ron's open door.

"What's up mate?" Ron asked, looking up from the letter he'd been reading.

"Just wanted to see if you needed saving from your boredom."

"Sure," Ron said, jumping up, the letter fluttering down on his bed behind him. "Wanna go for a fly?"

The two boys made their way out into the fields surrounding the Burrow, their brooms over their shoulders. The last two weeks had been excruciatingly dull for Ron. Since George had 'fired' him, it seemed like he had nothing but time on his hands and no-way to spend it. Ron even caught himself wishing there were chores to do to keep himself occupied, but with his mum up and about again even those were in short supply. He couldn't even spend his time practicing magic since even a few simple spells left him feeling woozy and exhausted. So he spent his time waiting and, like today, occasionally flying with Harry.

They kicked off, sailing high into the air and doing several laps before Harry pulled out the Snitch Dumbledore had given him and released it. Even with the better broom, Ron knew Harry would be the one to catch it four times out of five, but he didn't mind. It just felt good to be up there, the wind in his face, racing after the little golden blur beside his best mate.

After an hour, Harry came to a mid-air stop and Ron flew over to hover beside him.

"What's up?" Ron asked, noting Harry's expression.

"I, uh, found us a place," Harry said simply.

It took a moment for Harry's words to sink in. "You mean a flat?"

Harry nodded excitedly, the smile he'd been holding back spreading across his face. "Yeah. It's in London. Well, Muggle London. I thought that'd be better, you know? No wizards to stare at us all the time, knocking on our door."

"Staring at you, more like," Ron said, smirking.

"I meant both of us," Harry said, grinning as well. "That red hair's hard to miss if you hadn't noticed."

"It's a bloody curse," Ron grumbled, though they both knew he didn't really mean it.

"It's brilliant. Not too far from Diagon Alley, not too far from the Ministry. I've already petitioned to get it connected to the Floo Network."

"You mean you've already got it?" Ron asked, surprised.

"Not exactly. They need both of us to fill out some paperwork and pay first and last month's rent."

Ron gulped, his throat suddenly rather dry. "How much?"

"Uh, you mean in Galleons?"

"Of course I mean Galleons. I don't know how to count Muggle gold."

"Alright," said Harry. "Um, I think it's about…two-fifty a month?" Harry said, using his fingers to count off.

"That much!" Ron exclaimed.

"A piece," said Harry, looking sheepish.

"A piece! How can you think you can afford that? How can _I _afford that?"

"It's London," Harry said, as if that explained everything.

_Easy for him to say_, thought Ron. _He's got a vault full of gold_.

_You do, too, now_, a voice unmistakably reminiscent of George's reminded him.

"You know…I can…cover you," Harry said tentatively, obviously reading Ron's thoughts on his face. "Just until you find something," he added quickly, not wanting to seem like he was offering Ron charity.

Ron just frowned. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "With me, I mean?"

Harry just looked at him strangely. "How do you mean?"  
>"Maybe there's someone else you'd rather have for a roommate," Ron suggested. "Like Ginny."<p>

"Ginny?"

"Yeah, you know, my _sister_? Your _girlfriend_?" Ron said, emphasizing the word.

"I _know_ who she is," Harry said roughly.

"Yeah, well, never can be too sure."

"You really think that'd be a good idea?"

"Why not? She'll be finished with school in a month and I'm sure she won't want to live at home forever."

"Well…I don't know if your mum would like that."

Ron snorted. Harry really was his mother's dream child, always worried about what she would think and what would make her happy. Though he supposed Harry's sense of duty didn't just apply to Ron's mother. "Bet you she would. Hell, she'd probably throw you a party if you knocked Gin up, so long as you married her after."

Harry turned green around the gills. "S'not funny mate."

"Sorry," said Ron, looking over at his pensive friend. "Everything alright mate?"  
>Harry turned. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"<p>

"Yeah, well I've had a year to get used to it. You've only had a couple days."

"Does it make it better?"

"Not a whit."

"You know," Harry said, looking somewhat abashed. "We never really talked about Her-about what you told me at St. Mungo's."

Ron looked away. Things between the two boys had been a bit odd since Ron finally told Harry what had happened between him and Hermione. Ron had done his best to avoid the particulars, as much for his own sake as Hermione's, but he'd known the moment he opened his mouth that things would be different. It was one of the reasons he had kept the truth from Harry for so long.

At first Harry had just sat there in stunned disbelief, asking Ron again and again if he was sure it was the truth. Ron had finally told Harry to ask Hermione if he didn't believe it, and that seemed to be enough to convince him.

After that Harry got angry. For about ten minutes he'd shouted at Ron, telling him he had no right to keep something so big from him for so long, that it made Harry feel like an idiot for not seeing it sooner and for trusting the two of them to work out whatever it was on their own when that clearly was never going to happen, causing all of their friendships to suffer. He'd done an even worse number on Hermione; Ron couldn't remember Harry ever swearing so much in his life, let alone at _Hermione _of all people. Ron was just thankful he'd chosen to tell Harry alone, to give his friend the chance to work out all his anger in that hospital room instead of on Hermione herself.

When Harry calmed down came the part Ron had known to expect: blaming himself. Harry had actually apologized for the whole thing, as if it was somehow _his _fault and not Hermione's. Or at least that it was Harry's fault for not seeing it sooner, for not pushing harder to go to Australia and bring her back before things went from bad to worse, for letting his best friend stew in their grief and guilt all alone after everything Ron had done to help him in the past.

In the end Ron had done his best to explain that none of it was Harry's fault, that they were the ones who'd kept everything from him, that there probably wasn't anything he could've done even if he had know. Having Harry blame himself or even Hermione for the mess was the last thing he wanted; it had been so long that Ron just didn't have the energy to be upset anymore and told Harry as much. And while Harry obviously wasn't convinced, Ron knew he'd at least try to sort things out with Hermione and move past it. Of course, since Ron had been trying to do the very same for months, he knew this was easier said than done…for all of them.

Since then they hadn't spent much time together. Ron knew Harry was just trying to give him space, the way Ron had always tried to do for Harry. He knew if Ron wanted to talk to him about it he could, but wouldn't press the issue. It was the one part of telling Harry that was better than telling anyone else; Harry wouldn't treat him like some poor victim who needed pity, wouldn't act like Ron was just a chump who got his heart stomped on. And he would never slag on Hermione just to make Ron feel better like they were just two mates down at the pub, cursing all woman-kind. And Ron appreciated it. But he'd known it wouldn't last forever. He and Hermione had proved that they couldn't work it out on their own, and sooner or later Harry would want his friends back.

"What else is there to say?" Ron said finally.

Harry shrugged, at a lost for words as much as Ron. "You don't hate her."

"Of course I don't," Ron said defensively.

"But you can't forgive her either."

"I-I have. I've heard her side of things, and I can understand why she did…everything. I mean after everything she's done, she's earned the right to make a few mistakes."

"I think this is a bit bigger than getting a question wrong on a Potions final or not telling us about Krum, mate."

Ron couldn't disagree. "So what? I should just go on hating her forever?"

"Course not. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on between you two _now_. I mean I heard what she told you in that hospital room, I saw her kiss you. I know how Hermione feels about you. What I don't know is how you feel about her."

"It doesn't matter how I feel," Ron said with a certain finality.

"Of course it matters!"

"No it doesn't!" Ron shouted. "She cheated Harry! She went and SLEPT with someone else while we were still together! How would you feel if Ginny did the same thing to you, if you found out she'd been lying to you about it for a fucking year?"

"I know," Harry said quietly. "I don't know what I'd do in your situation. I don't know to do in _my _situation. I mean am I supposed to pretend it didn't happen when I'm around her? Should I hate her because of what she did to my best mate? Try and comfort her because I know she's hurting and she's my best mate too? I'm just trying to understand now that my friends have finally let me in on this big secret they've kept from me."

"Don't act like that," Ron said. "You kept all sorts of things from us over the years and you know it."

"Like what?"

"Like your feelings for my _sister_! And stuff about your dad or Sirius or Riddle."

"Those things were personal—"

"And my feelings weren't?" bellowed Ron.

"It's not the same thing. I always told you the truth eventually. I had to wait to find out how you felt from a sodding Horcrux!"

Ron cringed, his thoughts flashing back to that nightmare. "It's not your place to fix everything anyway," Ron started in.

"No, but it is my place to be there for you two when you're having problems," Harry retorted. "Look, you said it yourself; you two were there for me even when I didn't ask you to be, even when a part of me wanted both of you to just stay out of it for your own good and let me deal with it. So don't expect me to just sit by and watch things between you and Hermione go to hell."

"It's a little too late for that," Ron said quietly.

"Maybe it is," Harry agreed, finally calming down as well. "But it doesn't mean things can't get better if we try. This year's been hard on all of us."

Ron realized Harry wasn't just talking about the situation with Hermione. He and Harry had been living together all year, been side by side for months, yet he'd never felt further away from his best friend.

"You really want things between you two to stay the way they are now?" Harry asked seriously.

"Fuck no! I _hate _it. I hate that everything's awkward between us. I'm trying to be her friend but bloody hell…when I see her, when we're around each other, I can't help but remember how things used to be. And I can't help picturing her with _him _every time I look at her: touching her, kissing her…I can't forget all the lies she used to pretend it never happened. I can't pretend like I don't know how _easy _it was for her to just give up on us."

"Ron," Harry said softly.

"It just bloody _hurts, _Harry. And I don't know how to make it stop." They sat there in silence for a long time. "How are things between you two?" he asked finally.

Harry shrugged. "Alright, I guess. I just can't help wondering if things'd be different if we'd been around. This year's been hard on her too. The way Ginny talks about her when I ask…"

A small part of Ron thought Hermione deserved whatever misery she was going through. If she was unhappy, she only had herself to blame. A slightly bigger part of Ron just couldn't care at all. Hermione wasn't really his concern anymore. She'd had him, all of him, and thrown it away the first chance she got.

But the biggest part of Ron knew Harry's words to be true. Hermione _did_ need them. All her brains and brilliance were shoddy substitutes for best friends.

"I wrote Kingsley about taking him up on the offer to join the Aurors," Ron said, decided they needed a new topic of discussion.

Harry was so shocked that he actually slipped off his broom and plummeted fifteen feet before he managed to right himself again. Ron flew down and landed, figuring it was better to finish the conversation on the ground and Harry followed his lead.

"You're joining the Aurors? For real?"

"Well I wasn't going to stay unemployed forever," Ron joked. "Why d'you think I haven't told Mum that George fired me yet. She'd be on my arse trying to get me to join the Ministry like Percy if she knew. This way I can tell her I have everything figured out."

"Well that's brilliant!" Harry said, suddenly launching himself forward to hug Ron who, after a moment's surprise, returned the embrace furiously. "I didn't even know you were still thinking about it. When did this happen?" Harry asked when they separated.

"I wrote Kingsley the day after George fired me. He told me to do what I wanted and other than playing Keeper for the Cannons I couldn't think of anything else," Ron said, grinning as a result of Harry's infectious smile. He couldn't help it. Seeing Harry happy always made Ron feel like everything would turn out fine.

"You should've told me. Now that I've got almost a year under my belt I get to pick my own partner. I was going to ask Neville, but now that I know you'll be available…"

"Yeah well I reckon you still ought to go with Neville seeing as it'll be a few years before I'm an option."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well it's like you said, all the Death Eaters are either dead or locked up."

"So what? So now that there isn't as big a threat they're making you do the full three-years of training. I can't believe Kingsley would make you—"

"Not exactly," Ron interrupted. "I sort of…asked if I could do it."

"Okay, now I'm lost," said Harry. "Why would you do that?"

"Well, I was looking at some of those pamphlets McGonagall gave us back in fifth year and, well, I read that usually the better your marks and whatnot, the better your salary. Plus I thought it'd be a good idea to go through all those courses about tracking and concealment and whatnot. I reckon I'm alright in a duel, but it was mostly you two that handled the protective enchantments and disguises and everything last year."

Ron looked away, not wanting to see the disappointment in Harry's eyes.

"I didn't know you thought about stuff like that," Harry said, looking at him. For his part, Ron couldn't tell if Harry thought him ridiculous…or was impressed by his foresight.

"Yeah, well, working at the shop, handling the books all year…it just kinda got stuck in my brain I guess," Ron said, trying to sound indifferent.

"So three years training, huh?" Harry asked, looking up at the clouds.

"Guess so," said Ron, also looking upward. "That's if I even pass the entrance exam."

"You will," he heard Harry say. "And three years isn't so long. Hey, maybe by then they'll let me be your supervisor."

Ron looked at Harry and saw that he was smirking again. "Prat," Ron said, slugging him on the arm causing Harry to yelp in pain. "In three years you better be _running _that place so you can make me your partner. There's no way I'm getting stuck with some Frankie first-year. Ron Weasley only works with the best."

As the two of them laughed and joked, Ron's heart felt lighter than it had in ages. Now that he had told Harry he couldn't live with him and knew he had his support in joining the Aurors, Ron had the courage to tell the rest of his family. There was just one more person he needed to talk to.

_22 May, 1999_

When he left Hogwarts, Ron was sure he'd never return to the place. It was one thing to come to a Quidditch match or walk around Hogsmeade, but actually setting foot inside the castle brought a thousand memories to mind, both good and bad. He didn't know how Hermione did it every day. Or Ginny, for that matter. He supposed they'd just gotten used to it, the way he'd gotten used to seeing Fred's empty chair at the kitchen table every morning, seeing the place where the family clock had once stood before George had smashed it to bits.

He came to the old stone gargoyle, pleased to see it was in better condition than the last time he'd visited the Headmistress's office, even if it now posed a problem.

Harry had told him Dumbledore always used sweets for the password, but Ron couldn't remember ever seeing McGonagall eat one. In fact, he couldn't really think of any sort of personal information related to his own Transfiguration teacher besides her Animagus form. Well that, and the fact that she always had a tray of biscuits in her office when he was called there after getting in trouble.

_Worth a shot,_ he thought, having nothing to lose. "Tea biscuit," Ron tried to no avail. "Rock cake, oatmeal, biscotti, macaroon, chocolate chip, gingersnap."

At the word gingersnap, the old gargoyle slid to the side, revealing the hidden staircase. "Thanks," Ron said, feeling quite proud of himself as he took the stairs three at a time.

He knew McGonagall was probably down at the pitch with the rest of his school where his sister would be representing the Weasley name in Quidditch gear for the last time. _Or at least until Victoire's old enough to play_, he thought happily. Who knew? Maybe someday there'd be an entire Gryffindor squad made up of Weasley grandchildren. It was certainly a nice thought.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. Come to pay another visit I see."

Ron jumped, turning to see Dumbledore's portrait addressing him. "Bloody hell, you almost scared the pants off me."

"My apologies. It was not my intention to, uh, scare the pants off you," said Dumbledore, smiling genially. "As I'm sure you know, everyone is out watching the final Quidditch match of the season. Can I assume you're here to speak with me and not Headmistress McGonagall?"

Ron smiled. "Only if I can assume you already know the answer to that. And that you know why I'm here."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well I did have the suspicion that I might see you again after I heard about your…encounter at St. Mungo's a few weeks ago. I trust that you're feeling well?"  
>"Just fine, uh, sir," Ron said. His scars were faded back to normal again and while he still couldn't handle more difficult types of magic like Apparating, at least simple spells didn't make him feel like he was about to pass out.<p>

"It's good to hear there was no lasting damage. I'd offer you congratulations, but I'm sure you've tired of hearing everyone sing your praises."

"Uh, yeah," said Ron, his ears slightly pink with embarrassment. It might be annoying to read his name in the paper or hear George or Harry tease him about fighting all those Inferi, but praise from Dumbledore was entirely different.

"Well then, I suppose we should get to what you came here for. Seeing as I've only heard second-hand accounts of what took place at St. Mungo's, perhaps you can let me in on the specifics."

Ron's left hand crept into his pocket involuntarily to clutch the cool metal inside as if it was a talisman, some source of strength for him. "Well sir, when I was fighting the, uh, the Inferi, I was sort of…losing. _Incendio _just wasn't strong enough to fight all of them, so I tried using _Inflagro Caeruleus_. You know the one that makes those little blue flames?"

"I am familiar with the spell, yes," said Dumbledore, still sounding amused.

"Right. Well I didn't really expect it to do any better but I was desperate enough to try anything. But it…worked. The flames were huge, hotter than anything I've ever felt. I mean I cast _Engorgio _on them too, but—"

"Was an Engorgement Charm the only spell you used in conjunction with the flames?" Dumbledore asked knowingly.

"No. I ah, used _Wingardium Leviosa _to control them."

"I see," said Dumbledore, not giving any of his thoughts away, though Ron could practically hear the old wizard's brain working away, already figuring out the mystery that had stumped Ron and the St. Mungo's healers for weeks. "Were there any other oddities in your spellwork during the battle?"

"Well…at one point I summoned some birds to use as a distraction. But they were sort of…_glowing_, almost like the flames. You could even see them through the darkness powder I used."

Ron finished and waited for Dumbledore to spin out another riddle for Ron work out for himself rather than just tell him straight out. And after a few moments of contemplation, the former Headmaster didn't disappoint him.

"And I don't suppose you came to any sort of conclusion on your own, now did you?"

"Well, the birds sort of reminded me of a Patronus, with the light and all," Ron said tentatively.

"Indeed?"

"Or maybe a little more like the light from a Portkey, like when I use the Deluminator."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "And did you happen to have the Deluminator with you when it happened?"

Ron's fingers clenched more tightly around the little silver lighter in his pocket. "Yeah, I did. Are you saying that's what made my spells so…different?"

"What do you think?" asked Dumbledore.

Ron felt himself growing frustrated. He'd done nothing _but _think about these questions since the incident. He didn't want to think anymore, he just wanted answers. "Well, I mean it sort of makes sense, but it doesn't really fit does it? The Deluminator's for turning out lights, and for finding your heart's treasure or whatever."

"Yes, but I never said that's _all _it could do."

"Yeah, but it was still broken when it happened," Ron said, pulling out the Deluminator and holding it up so that Dumbledore could see the crack in it. "I've tried using it since I-uh, since it broke, and it doesn't work. Won't do a bloody thing."

Dumbledore sighed. "_Think_, Ronald. Think about what you're telling me."

"Huh?"

"The Deluminator never created the light you used to find Harry and Hermione. The name, Ronald. Think about the name."

"Deluminator?" Ron said, still completely lost as to what Dumbledore was getting at.

"Exactly! How an object called a Deluminator be expected to _create _light? It can put it out, it can store light inside of it to be used later, certainly. But the light doesn't come from inside its casing."

"So where did it come from?" Ron asked.

"Have you already forgotten the conversation we had a year ago?"

Ron looked at the object in his hand, frowning. "You mean-you mean love?" he asked skeptically.

"What else could fuel magic far beyond what you can do normally? Where else is could you find such a power? It does not matter that the Deluminator was cracked or broken. It was never more than a conduit, a way of channeling that power, the same as your wand. Of course it has its own bit of magic, like many things, but the important piece is _you_."

It was a nice theory, but it didn't add up. "Well then, why can't I do that sort of magic all the time? Why did I have it so bloody difficult learning spells for the six years I spent in this school?"

"Because there are no shortcuts in life, Ronald. The Deluminator allows you to focus your feelings and channel them into your magic, nothing more. Or did it Apparate _for_ you when you found your friends in the forest two winters ago?"

Ron thought back. No, he'd been the one to use the spell. The Deluminator had only told him the way. And yet…

"So why then?" Ron asked. "If I always had this…_power _inside me, why can't I use it all the time?"

"I don't believe I said it was always available to use as you please. If fact, I'm convinced it was only because of the spells you used during the battle that you were able to tap into your true strength."

"How d'you mean?"

"Perhaps there is someone your heart treasures whom you associate with the charms you used," Dumbledore said pointedly.

And just like that, Ron's suspicions were confirmed. Hermione had been the one to teach him how to use _Wingardium Leviosa_. It'd had been the first of a million things she'd taught him over the years and was the very spell he'd used to save her and ignite their friendship. And she'd been the one to set those canaries on him in sixth year. And he certainly remembered all the times she'd used the bluebell flames to keep them warm in winter and cook their food during the Horcrux hunt and to save his life from the Devil's Snare.

And he remembered when she kissed him in the hospital bed, when Hermione had admitted her love for him before he'd pushed her back to arm's-length.

"It can't be," Ron said, not sure who he was trying to fool. "It just can't. I don't. I don't _want_ to love her anymore."

"Do you think love is like picking out clothes or what you want to eat? Do you think you can say 'No, I don't want the asparagus but I'll take a slice of the rhubarb crumble'?"

Ron didn't like the sound of that. "So that's it? I don't have a choice? I don't have a say in the matter? I'm condemned to love someone forever no matter how much I don't want to?"

Dumbledore laughed. "Ronald, sometimes it's almost frightening how remarkably alike you and Harry are. Just as you chose to leave your friends, you chose to return. Love played a part in both those decisions. But it did not decide either one for you. Love can be twisted into fear just as easily as it can turn into courage and strength. Do you understand?"

"So…so you're saying it's my decision what to do with that love?"

"Essentially. Tom Riddle's mother let her love for a man drive her to deception and control. She let her own selfish desires control her feelings. Yet Professor Snape allowed his to transform him into a man who sacrificed everything for what he loved. Your love is your own, forever and always. No one can take it away from you, and you will never be rid of it. Let it guide you, light your way, but not to the point that it blinds you and leads you astray."

Ron's eyes glanced from Dumbledore's portrait to the Deluminator in his hand. _Is that what I've been doing? _he wondered.

"She doesn't deserve it," Ron said stubbornly. It was so easy to unleash his feelings here in front of Dumbledore who, for all his wisdom and knowledge, couldn't know the whole story, who Ron knew wouldn't judge him for his pain and anger.

"And who does?" asked Dumbledore. "Who are any of us to decide if we 'deserve' love? Like life, love is rare and precious. We never know how much of either we will be given. What matters is how and with whom we share them. And that is your decision to make."

So that was it. Ron was stuck, destined to love Hermione, forever. "Seems bloody unfair if you ask me," Ron muttered, finally letting his arm drop to his side.

Dumbledore laughed again. "You say that now, but you are still so young. Your love is new, and small. In time you might find it not so disappointing."

"And…what happens then? What if it's too late?"

"The marvelous thing about love is that unlike life, it lasts forever. There is no such thing as 'too late.'"

"It doesn't feel that way," Ron grumbled.

Dumbledore's eye twinkled again. "Surely you know that isn't true. Or how else would you have been capable of using the Deluminator to save yourself and the lives of all those at St. Mungo's?"

Ron said nothing. Finally, "Is there a way to fix it? The Deluminator I mean?"

"I think you'll find that these things have a way of fixing themselves. All that's needed is a little time, and perhaps a bit of encouragement."

And with those words, Ron knew their discussion was at its end. With any luck he might still be able to catch the end of Ginny's match. _That's if she hasn't got the Snitch already, _he thought proudly. "Thanks sir, for this," he said, pocketing the Deluminator, "and everything. Really."

"Ronald, before you go I was wondering if you might do me a favor."

"Uh, sure," Ron said, surprised but nevertheless pleased. "What is it?"

"I have some things I wish to pass on to Mr. Potter and Miss Granger and since you're here I was hoping you might deliver them for me."

"Yeah," said Ron, frowning a bit. "What are they?"

"I was hoping you could give my Pensieve to Harry. I'm sure he'll find some use for it in the future. As for Hermione, there should be a small bundle of notes from my school days in Professor McGonagall's desk, third drawer from the top on the left." Ron walked over and pulled out the bundle of papers covered in notes and strange markings Ron didn't understand. He pocketed it and went to the cabinet where the Pensieve was kept, opening it to find it already wrapped and bundled. He looked back at Dumbledore with questioning eyes.

"As I said, I had a suspicion you'd be paying a visit sooner or later," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Though I suggest using _Diminuendo _to make it more manageable."

Ron muttered the spell, shrinking the Pensieve enough to carry under one arm and turned back to the Headmaster. "Sir, I, ah, don't suppose you have something for me as well?" Ron asked hopefully, a little piece of him disappointed that he was being left out once again.

"I'm not excluding you, Ronald. The Pensieve is merely to…make up for the fact that Harry no longer has either the sword or the Resurrection Stone I left to him. In truth, he was never meant to keep either in the long run, so it worked out exactly as I'd hoped. As for Miss Granger…I consider those notes a mere extension of what I've already given her. Of course, as your Deluminator is broken I'd understand if you wished to return it in exchange for something—"

"No! No, I'll-I'll keep it," Ron said quickly, looking admonished. "Should make a wicked paperweight, at the very least," he joked.

Dumbledore smiled one last time. "I'm glad," Dumbledore's portrait told him. "I hope it helps to continue showing you the way whenever you feel lost."

Ron nodded and after a few words goodbye, left the Headmaster, hurrying down the castle's staircases as quickly as he could manage in the hopes of catching the end of the match. He reached the bottom, hurried around a corner…

…and ran straight into Hermione Granger.

…

Ron stood on the shore of the Black Lake, skipping stones across the mirrored surface while he waited for Hermione. He'd managed to get to the Quidditch pitch just in time to see the crowd of scarlet and gold supporters hoist Ginny and the rest of the Gryffindor team into the air in celebration, but had decided to leave his congratulations for another time. This was her moment, and he didn't want do anything to take away from that.

Hearing footsteps, he turned hoping to see Hermione. He found instead a short little girl with big, dark eyes the size of dinner plates staring back at him. She couldn't have been more than twelve years old he guessed; though she could've just been short for her age he couldn't remember ever seeing her in the Hogsmeade shop, which meant she had to be just a first or second year. And she was wearing what appeared to be a very large Gryffindor banner wrapped around her like a cloak that trailed along the ground so that she probably tripped over it whenever she tried walking.

"Hi," Ron said, smiling and trying to appear friendly. The girl said nothing, merely stared at him, frozen. "What's, uh, what's your name?" Ron asked, feeling ridiculous.

The girl opened her mouth but the only thing that came out was a loud squeak like a mouse and Ron nearly laughed, suddenly reminded of Ginny.

"Are you—"

"Missy Thompson, don't you think it's about time you get back to Gryffindor tower?"

Ron nearly jumped, the stern voice sounding so very much like Professor McGonagall. But when he looked, he saw it was only Hermione who had called out, treading across the soft ground as she approached them.

The girl—Missy, apparently—actually did jump. She looked at Hermione and opened her mouth to reply, but shut it again without making a sound. She looked to Ron who smiled at her in sympathy, knowing what it was like dealing with a stern Hermione. She blushed, and after casting one last shy glance at Ron, turned and scampered off.

He watched her run back up toward the castle, stumbling every few feet on the banner and Ron couldn't help but let out a slight chuckle.

"She looked about ready to cry," Ron said teasingly as he felt Hermione stop at his side. "Have you got all the first years terrified of the big, bad Head Girl?"

"Oh, stop it," said Hermione, sounding perturbed. "You've no idea how much trouble that one caused me this year."

"Come off it. She looks harmless."

"Believe me, there's nothing harmless about her. I'll have you know she snuck into the fourth year boy's dormitory last week and put blowing gum in all their hair. It took me ages to get it all out."  
>"How do you know it was her?" Ron asked skeptically.<p>

"She told me," said Hermione, prickling. "Seemed quite proud of it too, like she wanted to make sure no one else got the credit for her clever little prank."

Ron snorted. "Sounds like Fred and George."

"Oh I don't envy whoever has to deal with her next year. I'll have to remember to see if I can get George to ban her from the shop before I graduate. I shudder to think of what she'll be capable of with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products at her disposal."

"Well it seemed like you've got her in line now. I could almost hear her shaking in her robes," Ron said, turning back to the lake and tossing his last stone into the water with a loud 'plop.'

"I think that had more to do with you, actually."

"Huh?" Ron asked.

"Oh, Ron. Isn't it obvious? She's got a crush on you."  
>"What? Me? Why?" Ron said, trying to control his laughter at the idea.<p>

"You mean aside from the fact that you're a hero and tall and funny and not exactly _painful _to look at." As Ron's ears turned pink with pleasurable embarrassment, he was instantly reminded of a similar conversation he'd been privy to when Hermione had said similar things about Harry. "And I'm sure George's interview from a few weeks ago didn't hurt either."

"Remind me to kill my brother next time I see him," Ron growled. "Or better yet, remind me to get some blowing gum. Maybe I can find a color to match his hair so he won't notice it for days." They both laughed before an awkward silence settled in on them. "So, how was it?" he asked, breaking the tension.

"I um…got it," she said, turning pink, looking like she was trying very hard not to smile or gloat.

Ron felt like he should hug her, maybe even embrace her and swing her around in celebration like when she'd thrown herself at him during the Battle. But he knew the risk such intimacy still posed. It would be too easy for that hug to turn into a kiss. And from there who knew where things might lead. All he knew was that was a place neither of them were prepared to deal with. So he settled for lukewarm enthusiasm instead. "That's great," he told her. "Err, what was it for exactly?"

Hermione laughed, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear which the wind immediately dislodged again. "You amaze me," she said sweetly, settling herself down on the ground. "It was for this position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Wow…that's…that's…"

"Great?" Hermione supplied, looking up at him bemusedly.

"Yeah," said Ron. "It is." He plunked himself down beside her. "It really is. You've earned it," he said, giving her a big smile to let her know he meant it.  
>"I'm not so sure," Hermione said, sounding thoughtful.<p>

"What d'you mean?"

"I can't shake the feeling that the head of the department only wants me because of what I've already done. I don't think he expects me to actually _achieve _anything after I start except to attract some attention and maybe a few more galleons to him and the department."

"Well you'll just prove him wrong then, won't you?" Ron said simply. He didn't doubt for one second that if anyone could make a difference in the world, it'd be Hermione.

"That's almost exactly what Professor Blake told me," she said.

"Who?"

"The new teacher that took over Transfiguration for McGonagall. He's been really…encouraging this year."  
>Ron blanched. "It's good you had someone to talk to. I know I haven't always been the biggest supporter of spew, but I'm really proud of you."<p>

"It's not _spew _Ronald! How many times do I have to—" she broke off, seeing the mischievous look on his face as he broke into laugher. "You're just having a go at me, aren't you?" she said, sounding torn between anger and amusement.

"Who me? Of course not," Ron said innocently. She shot him a withering look. "Oh come on. You can't blame me. I've missed seeing you get so worked up over spew."

"Well you only have yourself to blame for that one. After all, it was your present that got me started again," she said, not bothering to correct him this time.

"Damn. Guess I'm not doing a good job of distracting you from the things that really mattered," he said, grinning.

"Funny. I always counted on you to remind me of what's _really _important when I got too wrapped up in the little things."

He looked at her and saw such genuine honesty written across her face. She looked lovely, dressed up all proper in a skirt and stockings for her interview, a delicate yellow rose set into her hair. And he wanted to tell her that he felt the same about her, the way she never let him settle for what was easy, how she always pushed him and Harry and kept them going. She was his conscience, now more than ever despite what had happened between them, the voice in the back of his head telling him to work harder at the shop, to stay patient when Percy was on his last nerve, to never give up hope with his mum.

"Ron, was there something specific you wanted to talk to me about?" Hermione asked seriously, breaking his concentration.

Ron panicked for a moment. He didn't really have a reason. He'd just come from talking to Dumbledore, from listening to all that shite about eternal love and _happened _to bump into her. It was too much to be mere coincidence. But did it mean he loved her?

_Course I do_, he thought, not bothering to deny the truth…at least not to himself. He hadn't even tried to deny his feelings up in Dumbledore's office. So what _had_ he been hoping when he'd asked her to meet up with him? To prove that… what?

"Well I just—"

"Because if it's about what happened at St. Mungo's, you don't have to worry. I-I shouldn't have said those things. I shouldn't have…kissed you." She paused as if waiting for Ron to refute her words, but he remained silent. "Anyway, I promise it won't happen again. I just hope Verity wasn't upset by it." Again, Ron said nothing. "You didn't tell her," Hermione said, sounding surprised as she correctly interpreted his silence.

"I-I reckon she'd understand. She knows we're friends. I mean it was just…we were just caught up in the moment. Right?"

"Of course," Hermione said stiffly. "Friends always kiss each other like that. They always say how much they love each other. They always pretend to be their friends' fiancées."

With each word, Hermione's voice became shriller, sounding more and more frantic.

"Don't," Ron said softly, trying to sound neither angry nor indifferent to her feelings. "It's not like that—"

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm trying Ron. Really, I am. It's just so hard to see you and not…and not…"

"I understand," Ron said. And Merlin, did he ever. "I feel the same way."

"You do?" Hermione asked, sounding genuinely surprised for the first time that day.

"Of course! Do you think I like how easy it is for me to lose control around you?"

Hermione's face fell and when she spoke, it was in a very small voice. "No, of course you don't."

Ron suddenly realized the full meaning of his words. "No! I didn't-I didn't mean it like _that_," he explained. "We just-we just can't. We obviously don't work like that."

"How can you even say that? We barely gave ourselves a chance to find out—"

"No, _you _didn't give us the chance to find out," Ron said sternly. "So what makes you think you deserve another one?"

Hermione flinched. He knew his words would sting her, but he didn't mean to be cruel. In fact, a part of him was actually hoping she'd say 'yes,' that she'd find some way to convince him otherwise, the way she had about so many other things in the past when he'd doubted.

"Ron…"

"I told Harry it was 'now or never' last year," Ron said, trying to restrain his seething anger. After all, it wasn't _completely _her fault. "We tried. We had our shot. And things just…didn't work out."

They sat there side by side, watching the wind sweep across the surface of the lake. Ron couldn't help but wonder if things between them were always going to be this way, always a tug of war, pushing and pulling and never making any progress one way or the other.

"I know I don't deserve another chance," Hermione said, speaking up. "Right now, I don't much feel like I even deserved the first chance. But that doesn't stop me from wanting one. You-you understand that, right?"

Ron sighed. "Sure. There are times when I feel the same. But I just don't see how it'd ever work. I mean I still don't understand what really happened with…y'know…Australia and all…"

You don't?" Hermione questioned softly.

Ron shrugged. "Not really."

"But I told you what happened. And all my letters…"

"Yeah. I mean I _read_ them, I know the facts. But it still doesn't explain _how_ I lost you so easily to—"

"You didn't," Hermione said fiercely. "You _couldn't_. You've had me since I was fourteen, maybe since the day of the troll. I…couldn't imagine how anyone else would've stood a chance."

Her words echoed Dumbledore's. "Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't it make you feel like everything's been decided for us?" Ron asked.

She looked at him oddly; it was an expression he rarely saw on Hermione's face and he didn't know what to make of it. "Why would it bother me? Why would I be upset that I was supposed to fall in love with you?"

"Well you sure did a bang-up job of acting the complete opposite," Ron said, knowing how spiteful he sounded.

"I know. And I know there's nothing I'll ever be able to do to prove that it was probably the biggest mistake of my life. But that doesn't change the fact that I'll never regret caring for you, even now." Ron said nothing. "You know…you still have me…if you want…" she said, her voice barely a whisper in the wind. He listened to her speak. Gone was the confidence in her voice from when she'd shown up at the shop two months before, even if the sentiment was the same. "I know you don't believe me after everything I did, but I never stopped wanting you. I just…I thought you didn't want me. So I tried not to _want_ to want you. I did everything I could think of to move on. I stayed away, I tried to distract myself with other things, I even found someone to try and replace you with."

"But I should've known; you're irreplaceable. There isn't someone else out there like you that I could've fallen for instead if only I'd met him first. I'd just hate to lose you completely. You told me you a while ago you wanted to try and be friends again. If you're still open to the idea I want-I'm willing to try," she said hesitantly.

"You don't think that's a bad idea?" Ron questioned. "We seem to bring out the worst in each other."

Hermione looked hurt again, but she didn't let any of the pain she was feeling seep into her voice when she spoke. "At times. But I also know you bring out the best in me. You taught me friendship and bravery when you were just eleven years old and a thousand things besides ever since."

And there it was: _the choice_. He might not have a choice to love her, but it had been his decision to talk to her. No-one was stopping him from just picking himself up and leaving her there. Harry didn't need their united support to save the world; there was no need for them to be friends any longer. No need except the one inside him that ached every day he went without seeing her face or hearing her voice.

"Well, if you can convince Harry to keep putting up with us," he said, trying to smile.

She smiled back. "Do you really think it'll be hard to convince him?" she asked.

Ron looked back out over the lake. "No, I don't think it will." He stood and offered a hand to Hermione to help her up. "So, when do you start this new job of yours?" he asked. They both knew it was a piece offering of sorts, a start on the new phase of their relationship.

"Sometime in July, I think. I'm not exactly sure," she said, letting go of his hand and brushing her hands over the back of her skirt. "And what about you? Ginny told me you and George are trying to expand to other countries. It's amazing how much the shop has grown in the last year," she said, sounding impressed.

"You'll have to ask George about that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well he sort of…fired me."

"WHAT? Why would he do that? What possible excuse—"

"It's alright," Ron said, trying to calm her down. "I'm actually going into the Aurors."

As soon as the words were out, he regretted them, remembering what she'd said in the hospital, how _glad_ she'd sounded that he didn't have a job that constantly put him in harm's way.

"Well that's…that's wonderful," Hermione said plainy.

"Don't get too excited," Ron said sarcastically.

"No, I am," she insisted. "I knew that's what you wanted to do, you and Harry. It's just…I know you well enough to know that you'll be too busy trying to help people to worry about getting hurt."

"That's how it's been since the day you met us. You'd think you'd be used to worrying about Harry by now. I mean he's been an Auror for almost a year and nothing's happened to him yet."

"Well that's completely different. I only really had to worry about Harry back then."

"What's that mean?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked horrified, realizing what she said. "That's not what I meant," she stammered. "God, I never seem to say the right thing with you, do I?"

"It's okay. I'm guilty of the same," Ron said, trying to sound understanding. Perhaps that was part of the problem; it wasn't what they said, but the fact that they never gave the other the chance to explain things when they messed up, always jumping to conclusions and getting defensive and running in the opposite direction from where they both truly wanted to be.

"Well we both know Harry has a bit of saving people thing, always has. That's why he was always getting into trouble and needing us to help him. But I guess it took me a while to realize you're just as bad as he is."

"I am not!" Ron protested, as if he'd been insulted.

Hermione let out a sound that was part laugh, part sob, and part cough. "You are. You just used to be more reasonable about it than Harry. He was always trying to save everyone. You were just trying to save the three of us. But I always knew that when you became an Auror, you'd be trying to save everyone just like him. Only you're a bit more reckless than Harry. That's why I was relieved when I found out you were working in the shop."

Ron pretended to muse this over. "Reckon surviving the Killing Curse twice would give a bloke a bit of an invincibility complex."

"Well at least now he'll have you to watch his back," Hermione said brightly, trying to sound optimistic.

He snorted. "Yeah. He'll just have to stay lucky for a couple more years while I finish my training first."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I thought I'd do things right. I want to make sure I'm actually ready for it."

"That's-that's wonderful Ron," Hermione said.

"You don't need to sound so excited," Ron grumbled, reading her dour expression.

"I am," Hermione insisted. "Really. You're thinking ahead, thinking about the future. Harry's not really like that, is he?"

"No I s'pose he isn't."

Ron fell silent. While a part of him _did_ want to go through the training so he would be as prepared as possible, he also knew he could handle it without the training. He'd proved himself capable of doing it, both during the war and again a just few weeks earlier at St. Mungo's.

No, he knew he was doing it for the extra gold he would make as a result and it shamed him. So what if he had a vault full of gold at the moment? He knew it wouldn't last forever. And what if someday he had a family to support? Ron had never blamed his father for doing what he loved, but he also didn't want his potential future children to grow up like he had, forced to wear hand-me-downs and face insults from people like Malfoy. He didn't have the luxury of having two fortunes like Harry did; he knew every Knut made a difference.

"So are you going to tell me what you needed to talk to Dumbledore about?" Hermione asked quietly.

Ron's head snapped up and he looked at her. "Who said I went to see Dumbledore?"

"Oh honestly Ron. Professor McGonagall was already down at the Quidditch match when I bumped into you in the castle so you obviously weren't here to see her. I'm assuming that's why you have his Pensieve with you."

Ron had to smile at how easily she'd put it all together, though he guessed the large, wrapped package was probably a dead give-away. "Can't get anything by you. It's a present for Harry," he told her. "Dumbledore wanted him to have it since he didn't get to keep the Sword or the Stone."

"Oh," said Hermione, nodding in understanding.

"He gave me something for you too," Ron said, taking out the bundle of notes he'd taken from the desk drawer and handed them over.

"What are they?" Hermione said, taking them and unwrapping them eagerly before he had a chance to answer.

"No idea," Ron said, watching her fondly as her eyes raced across the page, soaking in the words and symbols he'd found to be utter nonsense. "Well?" he asked after she'd quickly skimmed through the first few pages, knowing that she'd probably managed to absorb everything she'd read in just a few minutes' time.

"They're his notes on _Beedle the Bard_," explained Hermione. "And…information about the Deathly Hallows." She looked up at him, a rather cross explanation on her face. "Why didn't he give these to me in his will? It would been much easier figuring out why he gave me the book in the first place if I had these."

"Probably because they would've helped the Ministry figure out what he was trying to tell you," Ron guessed, shrugging. "And you know Dumbledore; he never makes things easy for us, does he?"

"Yes that make sense," Hermione said absentmindedly, her nose already burrowed back into the notes. "But what's the point in giving them to me now?"

Ron had no answer for that one, but knew Hermione would probably figure it out in time. He watched her in silence for a few minutes, a strong wave of nostalgia warming his insides as he remembered all the times they'd sat together studying, which had really just been opportunities for him to steal sidelong glances at her while her attention was focused elsewhere. He loved the way she bit her lip in concentration, the way her hair constantly fell across her face forcing her to sweep it back again and again, not even aware of what she was doing, or how sexy he found even those little movements.

Hermione looked up after a few minutes, blushing, obviously having felt Ron's eyes on her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"S'alright," Ron explained. "I should probably get going," he said, walking over to gather up the Pensieve.

"Of course," said Hermione, sounding as disappointed as he felt that their time together was at an end.

"D'you want me to walk you back to the castle?" Ron asked suddenly.

"Oh!" started Hermione. "Well, actually I was thinking I'd go for a bit of a walk actually. It's such a nice day."

Ron widened his eyes exaggeratedly. "Skiving off your studies to go for a walk? And with exams coming up?" Ron teased. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Oh shut it," Hermione scolded, though she too was smiling. "I was never that bad. You made sure of that."

"Well I tried…but I'm no miracle worker," Ron said, grinning. "Listen. If you need a place to stay when term ends…before you go see your parents…I mean I'm sure Mum would love to have you," Ron said, shifting is weight awkwardly as if this was the first time he was asking her to come stay with him and his family.

"I saw her at the match earlier," Hermione said. "She seems to be doing a lot better."

"Guess grandkids make the best medicine," Ron joked lamely.

"I'm sure it's more than just that," Hermione said, reaching out and squeezing his arm gently.

"Right, well I'll just leave you to it then?" Ron said, his mouth rather dry at the moment as he strained to keep his eyes on her face and not on her hand that was still touching him.

"Did-didn't Dumbledore give you anything?" Hermione asked, taking a small step toward him.

A knot lodged itself in Ron's throat and it took a moment for him to get the words out. "Yeah," he whispered, looking into her big, warm eyes, feeling that maybe, just _maybe_, one day things between them wouldn't be as broken as they currently seemed. "Yeah, he did."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The title of this chapter comes from the song "More Than This" by Roxy Music off their album _Avalon_.

Well hopefully that clears up a few things about CH25, though I'm sure you guys are left with plenty of questions. Never fear: the answers are coming.


	29. CH28: Tangled Up in Blue

**A/N: **First, as always, acknowledgements to my reviewers **EmD23, HilaryWeasley, tvsucks, writemealetter, Marie, selene86, tabitoo, Michael Ho, MsEan, celticscorpion, heronlove, Sarden, Fred, mcdreamer, Leonardo00, stochmika, ObsessedRHShipper, DeLoreanDMC-12, Sandrinha, ShePotter, riverina, Stampede, Cupid's Heart of Gold, faultybooster, marais, Give me a break, Earn, Heart on the Sleeve, BarbaraBriana, hptk, HalfASlug, peacock33, HilaryWeasley, Severedwasp, MaybeOnce, Lulu, Qwerty, AddisonAddicted, Athenais777, Study Break, What, Note to Readers, RyanRow02, ahoy, Marie, Drobbles, jlemon64, smaloukis, newyearzgirl18, ozzel1, HeRon4eva, Save the last dance, anon, plz, Ouch, snowbear96, potterhp, emrupe4ever, placebo13, Iambic Pentameter, FortuneFaded2012, Pogo, milan4ever, oscarpaz00 **and especially** Your Tin Man **who left (at least) 19 reviews since I posted chapter 27, doing more than his fair share to get this fic to reach the 600 review mark. This chapter is dedicated to him.

Well, here it is, our last flashback chapter and our final look at Australia.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28: Tangled Up In Blue<strong>

_22 July, 1998_

Hermione groaned as sleep faded away and the pounding in her head returned. She'd just been having the most wonderful of dreams. Of course, Ron was there, in a place where nothing had ever, could ever, come between them, where he still looked at her like she could do no wrong, like she was still perfect, the way she knew he'd been thinking as he handed her that rose on the hillside. Now, she was lying on an entire field of roses, everything soft and sweet-smelling, and as Ron leaned toward her she pulled him down on top of her, reveling in the feel of his weight settling above her. He was so big, so heavy, but she never felt smothered or uncomfortable beneath him like this. In fact, she'd never felt safer, knowing Ron stood—or rather laid—between her and the rest of the world, covering her from anything that might seek to do her harm.

Her whole body tingled as his lips brushed hers, teasing a kiss from her lips. She wanted to stop feeling so cold inside and knew his heat was the only thing that could warm her. Her hands pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, sliding inside up along his stomach and chest, making both of them gasp into each other's mouths. She wanted more though, and soon she was yanking it over his head, their lips fumbling at the lost contact and he used the opportunity to pull hers off as well, unwilling to have to stop again later to remove it.

And then their skin was rubbing deliciously against one another, her hand clutching his bum, pressing their hips together to facilitate the friction she'd so dearly missed since they'd parted. His hand was undoing her belt and she helped him before doing the same to his own and they both slid out of their clothes. She could feel his length, hot and hard, pressing into her through his shorts. She pulled them down; she wanted nothing between them, no clothes, no secrets, no misunderstandings. Just them.

She could feel his fingers on her hips, curling around the band of her knickers and felt herself nodding to his silent pleadings as she kissed him. And then his mouth left her as he sat up to slide them down her legs, his hands caressing her thighs as they went, marveling over every inch of her now exposed to him: him and no-one else.

She pulled him back down to her, feeling bashful letting him look at her lying there so exposed, and kissed him again, one hand twined into his red hair as the other reached down to fondle him, taking his length and pressing it to her heat, desperate and impatient for him to take her.

She remembered the pain of having him inside her, and the building pleasure that had slowly replaced it as she adjusted to him. It had been wonderful, better than she remembered, but at the same time it had felt…_less_.

Hermione twisted away from the edge of the small couch and burrowed into Ron's sleeping form, which felt colder than she remembered. "Morning," a very groggy voice said, so raspy it hardly sounded like Ron.

"Morning," she whispered back, smiling as she turned to look at his beautiful face. But what she found when she opened her eyes wasn't Ron's blue eyes looking back at her, nor his long nose, or bright red hair or hundreds of freckles. And as she stared into the face that should've been Ron's but wasn't, the events of the previous night came back to her, completely separate and distinct from the wonderful dream that had followed.

_I didn't. I hadn't. _She wanted to convince herself that the truth was the nightmare and Ron was reality, but as Nathan gently pressed soft lips—too soft—to her forehead, a shudder ran through her body removing all potential for doubt.

She pushed herself away from him as inconspicuously as possible, desperately searching for something to cover herself with other than the blanket they shared. Seeing nothing within reach, she stood up, taking the blanket with her and scrambled to pick up her scattered clothing, careful to avert her eyes from where Nathan still lay on the couch. He mumbled few questions but Hermione ignored them, not trusting her voice at the moment and hurried to the loo before collapsing on the floor before vomiting into the toilet.

Her eyes stung with tears as images flashed before her eyes of what should have been an important moment in her life, something special, but was tainted and ruined by circumstance and her own foolishness.

"Hermione?" Nathan asked worriedly from the other side of the door. "Everything alright?"

"Fine," Hermione choked out. "I just…need a minute."

"I'll make us some breakfast, yeah?"

"Sure." As soon as she heard his footsteps move away from the door she stood, pulling on her knickers and jeans and wrapping her coat around her without bothering with her blouse. She grasped the door handle, swallowed the bile rising in her throat and stepped out, heading straight for the exit.

"I think I'll have to skip out on breakfast. I didn't tell my parents-I mean my aunt and uncle that I wouldn't be home last night and they're probably worried sick so I should get home," she said very quickly as walked toward the door.

"Well you can call them if—"

"No, really I think it's best I tell them in person," Hermione interrupted, trying to keep the panic in her voice down. "I-I'll just…I'll see…bye," she stuttered, before leaving without giving him the chance to respond.

Hermione could have caught a bus or train home, but walked instead, feeling as though the other passengers would take one look at her and know what she'd done, know what a-a _slag _she was. Of course, she couldn't escape her own judgment no matter how much her stomach ached or her legs burned as tears rolled down her cheeks. She only managed to make it inside before collapsing against the door of her parents' house as her body was wracked with another sickening wave of guilt and sadness. She let out a few choked sobs as she slid to the floor. Her legs burned from running…she didn't even know how far she'd run. Two miles? Three? It didn't matter. Lightheaded though she was from exhaustion and the lingering traces of alcohol in her system, she couldn't get the image of what she'd just been doing out of her thoughts, where her hands had been, where Nathan had…

'Hermione!"

She looked up, her heart sinking even further than before s her parents stood before her with gaping mouths.

"Hi," Hermione said brokenly.

"What happened?"

"Where have you been?"

"Are you alright?"

"Out all night? We've been worried sick—"

"The least you could've done is called and told us—"

"Is it that Nathan? I knew he was trouble—"

"Shush David, he's a good sort—"

"Not when he keeps my daughter out all night—"

"I'm sure she has a perfectly good explanation."

They both ceased arguing and looked at her expectantly.

"I-I…" And then, as if she'd been struck with inspiration and needed to run to the library to confirm her suspicion, she stood and fled. Only it wasn't the library she needed, and the feeling that had struck her was not inspiration but another wave of nausea. Covering her mouth, she staggered to the loo before vomiting in the sink. She stuck her head under the faucet, guzzling down the cool water, wishing it would rinse the taste of sick, of Nathan, of herself.

Hermione raised her head to look at the mirror. She looked horrid, barely recognizable with bloodshot eyes, her hair a sweaty, windswept mess, her light hints of makeup and lipstick smudged and smeared across her face. _Or maybe this is the real me, _she wondered as she swallowed the bile rising in her throat, her insides burning.

She heard footsteps, one of her parents coming to check on her, and quickly shut the door to the loo. A knock came a moment later.

"Hermione?" her father's voice came a moment later, sounding worried. "Is everything alright?"

"M'fine Daddy," Hermione called to him weakly, desperately wishing he'd leave her alone. She didn't want him to see her like this, as if he might see in her eyes the person she really was.

"Did you…did you have a good time?" he continued, sounding a bit panicked himself.

She tried to make her voice as even as possible, tried to mask the pain threatening to tear her apart. "Mhmm. Nath-we just…Dinner…I don't think it's sitting too well with me." The lies came so easily. Oh, if only she could believe them herself. If only the truth could be altered so easily.

"Can I help? Need me to get you anything? Your mother?"

"No!" Hermione said emphatically. "No, I just-I think I need to wait it out. I'll be fine in a bit."

After a moment she heard his footsteps moving away and Hermione started trying to wash away the traces of her sickness.

"Sweetheart? Can you let me in?"

Hermione froze. She hadn't even heard her mother replace her dad on the other side of the door. "No Mum. I told Daddy, I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine Hermione. Please, let me in."

She didn't want to, everything within Hermione protested, but there are times when a girl needs her mother. And this was one of them.

"It's open," Hermione choked as another round of tears burst forth in anticipation of what her mother would see, of what she would think of her little girl.

The door opened and Hermione turned to look at her mother with a look of defeat more absolute than any she'd worn since seeing Harry's lifeless body in Hagrid's arms. "Oh, my baby," Mrs. Granger said, moving forward to sweet her daughter into her arms, crushing Hermione to her breast. "It's alright. It'll be alright. I promise."

Hermione said nothing, letting go of all her grief, knowing morning wouldn't change a thing.

_25 July, 1998_

"Sweetheart? I've brought you some tea and toast."

Hermione's eyes opened before they shut again quickly as the light from the hallway behind her mother burned into her. After her mother had helped her to bed, she hadn't left her room once, while her Mum called in to Shangri La to cancel her shifts for the week, telling them Hermione was ill. She was already on such thin ice that Hermione expected to lose her job over it, but that was really the least of her worries at the moment.

"Hermione," her mum tried again, setting the tray of food on the bed and taking a seat herself. "You need to eat something or you won't get your strength back."

Hermione would've laughed if she thought it wouldn't make her sick again. Getting her strength back implied that she'd had any to begin with, which her mother would understand _wasn't _the case if she knew the full story. Hermione knew it was too much to hope for that her mother hadn't recognized the stench of alcohol on her breath the other morning, perhaps even the smell of sex that pervaded her own mind at all times, torturing her no matter how long she'd stood in the shower trying to scrub herself clean, but strangely her mum hadn't said anything, hadn't scolded her or asked for explanation. Hermione had thought having her mum respect her privacy would be at least one burden off her shoulders, but someone it only made her feel worse.

"Are you ever going to come out of this room?" her mum asked.

"No," Hermione snapped, childishly pulling the bed sheets over her head. The action spurred a fit of laughter out of her mother, and Hermione pulled the sheets back down to look at her. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just…you haven't done that in ten years." Her mum smiled. "It's sort of nice to see, makes me feel like you're not so grown up that you don't need me anymore."

Hermione wanted to tell her that she hadn't needed her since leaving for Hogwarts, that she _had _been forced to grow up all on her own, or at least without the help and guidance of her mother who could never understand the struggles and responsibilities she'd dealt with in the wizarding world. And yet…here she was, six o'clock in the evening, pouting and wallowing in self-pity because of the mistakes she'd made that had nothing to do with dark magic or evil wizards.

"I used to do this?"

"Oh all the time. I remember you'd try and hide whenever your father wanted to take you camping. Or when I told you it was time for a haircut."

"But…but I _hate _my hair."

Her mum smiled again. "Not always."

"Yes, always," Hermione insisted.

"No, you only started hating it after the kids at school started teasing you for it. Before that, you loved your hair as much as I did." Caroline Granger reached out and brushed a hand over the matted tangles and sighed. "So much like your father's."

"They used to put chewing gum in it," Hermione moaned, remembering. "And I wouldn't even notice until—"

"—until you came home and I found it and had to help you get it out. And then you'd beg me to let you stay home from school the next day—"

"—and you would always tell me I didn't have to go back," Hermione remembered fondly. "But then you'd ask me again in the morning—"

"—I'd ask if you were sure you wanted to stay home, and you'd put on this brave face, take a deep breath and tell me you were going—"

"—because I didn't want to fall behind in my studies," Hermione completed, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"And because you had that terrible crush on your teacher," her mum teased. "What was his name?"

"Mr. Farish," Hermione groaned, remembering. "And I did _not _have a crush on him."

"Of course you didn't sweetheart," sounding completely unconvinced.

Hermione fumed, not because of a crush she may or may not have had on her grammar teacher when she was seven, but because of the dark cloud pervading what should've been a fond moment between mother and daughter, a cloud she herself had cast over her life that was likely to never clear.

"Are you ready to tell me what the other night was about?" her mum asked as if sensing her thoughts.

"No. It's just…it was stupid."

"My Hermione is never stupid."

"How can you say that? I erased your memories to get rid of my problems, I stayed here with you and Daddy for the same reasons, and then the other night I…I did it again. I was stupid and got drunk and somehow found the only way to make a bigger mess of things than they already were."

"You're almost nineteen years old. It's not exactly a crime to let yourself relax for one night and let your hair down. I remember when I was your age—"

"You wouldn't-you wouldn't be acting like everything's okay if you knew the truth. You wouldn't be so…so _understanding_. You'd be disappointed in me. I know I am—"

"First, you have _never_ disappointed me," her mother cut in, her face ablaze with the same determination her daughter had inherited from her. "You can't. I was disappointed _in myself_ when I found out my own daughter didn't even trust me enough to share her problems with me and felt like she couldn't come to me for help. I didn't know what I'd done to make you think it was better to keep everything to yourself." Hermione's face fell. Like she needed _another _reason to feel guilty. "But that's the way you've always been. And even if I don't understand it, I know you were only trying to do what was best. I just wish you knew that being _honest _with us is the best way to make things easier for yourself. I know you've always felt like you needed to do everything on your own, but that's what your father and I are here for. To _help_ you. And second, I may not be as brilliant as you or your father, but I'm not exactly stupid either. I'm here to listen, sweetheart. No judgment."

"I _can't_," Hermione said despairingly. She'd relived each torturous moment over and over again since waking up that morning. And even though she'd accepted that she'd always feel this way, that didn't mean she wanted to recite the entire ordeal for her mother.

"If you don't want to tell me what's _really _bothering you, I understand. But it might help if you talked to me about it. Or if that's too uncomfortable, then maybe someone else: your father, Nathan—"

"No," Hermione declared forcefully. "Not-not him."

"Is that the problem? Nathan?"

"Yes. No. I don't _know_," Hermione cried, reaching for the bed sheets once again before her mother stopped her.

"Maybe you could write to Harry…or Ron?"

The mention of _his _name did it, and when Hermione hid her face in her pillow, her mother didn't try to stop her this time.

"Why did you even push me to talk to him? Why did I ever listen?"

She felt her mother begin rubbing soothing patterns on her back. "If I thought it would help, I'd let you blame me for everything. But you should know that doesn't solve anything, nor will it make you feel any better.

Hermione looked up with red, puffy eyes. "_Why_ though? Why was it so important to you that I liked Nathan? Why did you have to keep trying to push us together?" Hermione knew it was unfair, knew her mother hadn't _made_ her befriend Nathan, but she'd been stewing in her own guilt for two days, and she needed a few moments where she could blame someone else, a few moments of relief she knew she didn't really deserve.

Surprisingly her mother actually _did _look guilty, which instead of providing relief made Hermione only feel worse about the entire situation. The only one to blame for what had happened between her and Nathan was herself.

"I thought if had a friend, someone nice and simple whom you could relate to, you'd be less tempted to go back to that world."

"You didn't used to care that I didn't have any friends," Hermione said spitefully.

Her mum laughed. "Of course I did. But when you were younger you didn't seem to need any, except for your father. I think we both know you just hadn't met the right kind of friends yet."

"And now that I have you wanted to keep me away from them?"

"_No!_ All I wanted was for you to be _happy_. That's all I've ever wanted for you. And I know magic and your friends and that entire world were a big part of that change and I'll always be grateful for what they've given you but…oh sweetheart. You just seemed so miserable after you showed up. You're father was convinced it was just the result of everything you'd gone through with us, and the war…"

"But after hearing everything you said about what you went through last year, and even before that, I just didn't know if it was the best thing for you to jump right back into that world. Your father made me promise not to make any decisions for you, that it had to be _your _choice because it was your life. But you're still so young. I know you've been through a lot but that doesn't mean you're immune to making mistakes and I just didn't want to see you make another one, especially if you were going to be half a world away where I couldn't help you. At least here I could keep an eye on you, I could still hold you if you cried, check in on you every night to make sure you were safe. So I thought if maybe you had more of a reason to stay, if you didn't feel like you _had _to go back to that world that you could find a way to be happier here, away from all that misery I saw every time I looked at you."

Hermione's forced anger was becoming more and more genuine as she listened to her mother explain herself. How dare she meddle like that?

"I'm sorry," her mother said, sounding like she truly meant every word. "I didn't mean to make things worse for you. I just…I didn't want you to live the same life I did."

"What-what does that mean?" Hermione demanded, so cross that she wasn't sure if she even cared what the answer was.

Here her mother looked hesitant to continue. "We—_I_—never told you, but your father and I-we were planning to separate."

Hermione felt a shock run through her, cold fear running through her bones at the realization that her Memory Charm had failed.

But then she actually went back over her mother's actual words. _She said they never told me_, she realized, restoring the briefest spark of hope and a new sense of panic in her words.

"When?" Hermione demanded. "When was this?"

"Just before you were born," Caroline Granger admitted, her own feelings of grief paling her complexion. "It wasn't working between us. We were too different, and too much alike at the same time, if that makes any sense. We didn't want the same things out of life. But more importantly, we just weren't making each other happy anymore."

"So what happened?" Hermione asked, losing herself in this story, the sympathy for her mum offering a brief reprieve from her own agony.

"_You_," her mum answered, her brown eyes shining with tears. "I found out I was pregnant and when I told your dad we decided we owed it to you to give us another chance."

It was almost too much to process. As Hermione tried to fit this new information into what she already understood—or thought she'd understood—of her parents' relationship, she couldn't get over the fact that her parents would have abandoned each other a long time ago had it not been for the unfortunate timing of her own conception. "What does any of this have to do with Nathan?" Hermione asked, too distraught to think about the irony that she'd saved her parents' marriage twice now.

"Not Nathan, sweetheart. _Ron_."

"What—"

"I loved your father, just like I knew you loved Ron, even when you were too busy assuring me that you couldn't stand him to think about _why _he drove you crazy. It didn't matter if you actually told me, or told him for that matter. I knew, and I think you knew too and I just didn't want you convincing yourself that you had to make it work."

"But why? If you knew how I felt—"

"People fall in love all the time sweetheart, and they're not always meant to stay that way forever."

"But you and Daddy have," Hermione said, feeling a rush of deceit, knowing it was only due to her own meddling that this was the case.

"And it hasn't exactly been easy. Look, I love your father with all my heart, but sometimes I wonder if things had gone differently, if you hadn't come along and we'd ended up with different people. Not that I'd give you up for anything," her mum added quickly, seeing Hermione's shocked expression. "You're the most wonderful thing I've ever done, and I would never regret having you in a million years, but without you, I know we wouldn't have had the strength to try. You and Ron…you don't have a child. All you have is love, which is wonderful. But sometimes love just isn't enough."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, to tell her mother that her feelings for Ron were _more _than enough, but no words came out. How could she deny her mother's words when the truth of them was staring her in the face from every corner of her room? She and Ron had finally taken that next step, finally admitted how important they were to each other and yet it hadn't been enough, had it? Otherwise, what was she doing in Australia without Ron by her side?

_But you didn't admit it, did you? _a nasty voice squirmed inside her head. _Ron admitted it but you…you never did. You never told him anything._

_ I did, _she argued with herself. _He knew how much I wanted him to come, how much I needed him here with me. He was the one who—_

_ And you thought you were the only one who needed him? That your need was greater than everyone else's? You assumed he would put aside his family for someone who couldn't even admit that she loved him?_

_ Never! I told him I would stay until he was ready. I'd never make him choose—_

_ But you assumed, _the twisting, hissing voice continued with its bitter truths. _You didn't even consider the possibility that he was trying to do what was best for everyone, you included. _

"You see?" her mother's voice broke in, interrupting her thoughts. "I know how smart you are, I know you understand. You're headstrong and stubborn, always have been. No-one made any decisions for you, and even though I was the one who put Nathan in your path, you were the one to accept him. You didn't have to stay here; you could've gone back to your friends any time you wanted. You didn't have to try and move on from Ron. Doesn't the fact that you took up with someone else the first chance you got tell you anything?" Her mother's words echoed her own thoughts so perfectly that she couldn't find the will to argue against them as she broke down into a fresh round of tears. "Oh sweetheart, I'm not trying to make you feel worse. Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes-sometimes things don't work out the way we hoped."

"But you and Daddy are fine now," Hermione bemoaned, too distraught to remember that their blissful happiness was only the illusion of the Memory Charm.

"Yes, well," her mum said, blushing slightly. "We were lucky. We had you and we still loved each other and—"

"But I _do_! I do love him, more than anything!" Hermione insisted, tasting the seeming hypocrisy in her words as she admitted it for the first time—and to her mum of all people.

"Which is why it seems like the end of the world right now. But you'll find someone else, Ron will find someone else."

"But I don't _want_ to find someone else. And I certainly don't want him to find someone else either."

Her mother was taken aback by such adamant behavior, and looked at her daughter, a broken, sopping mess with puffy eyes and swollen cheeks and the determination of a warrior going into battle, and sighed. "Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure Ron is the one who makes you happy.

"More than anyone." Hermione didn't even need to think about it, though it made her wonder how she could've convinced herself otherwise for so long.

"Then you can fix this."

"How?"

Her mother looked at her sadly and reached out to smooth back her hair. "I don't know, sweetheart. I just don't know."

_1 August, 1998_

Hermione would've liked nothing more than to put all her mistakes behind her. She didn't want to dwell on the past but move forward, but there was one thing she had to do first.

"Hermione?"

She looked up from the stoop she'd been sitting on to see Nathan, looking surprised to see her waiting for him outside his apartment. She'd been waiting for ages in the dark for him to get home, not having anticipated that he might be out. She knew he'd called her house looking for her several times in the past week, but Hermione hadn't talked to him once and knew he had to be confused. Her mother had made excuses for her when he called, but she didn't know what she'd actually told him. She just hadn't been prepared to deal with reliving that night nor ready to tell him what was needed. But as much as she wanted to put the confrontation off forever, she knew she couldn't, not if she was to have the strength to confront Ron as well.

"Hello. I was hoping we could talk."

"Of course. Wanna go inside?" he asked, taking out his keys. "I could fix us some—"

"No. No that's-out here is fine," Hermione said, keen on avoiding the scene of the crime.

"Sure." Nathan took a seat next to her and Hermione suppressed a shudder as his arm brushed hers. "So what's up? I haven't heard from you in a while. I was starting to worry that you'd-that I'd…done something."

Hermione wanted to tell him that his suspicions were right, but she wasn't angry with him, not really. How could she, when she'd been the one leading him on? He hadn't forced himself on her, and was no more at-fault for what had happened than her mum was. He hadn't known because she hadn't told him the truth, and now, like so many other people, he was going to suffer for her misguided actions.

"You didn't," she told him softly. "The other night, I just—"

"I never should've let you drink that much. I should've cut you off. I knew it was your first time…"

Hermione cringed at those words as Nathan continued speaking, thinking about the other first time she'd shared with him, how it never should've happened, how it was supposed to have been Ron.

"It's alright," she said, interrupting him. "I don't blame you. It was my choice."

"When I didn't hear from you last week, I thought you didn't want to see me anymore."

His words hung in the air, and Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and averted her eyes, preparing herself. Ending things with Viktor had been so much easier. She got the impression that he'd been preparing himself for a while, knew things between them would never progress to where he wanted. And she'd appreciated Viktor and everything he'd done for her, everything he'd given her in spite of the problems their relationship had caused between her and Ron.

But this wasn't about her, or Viktor. "I'm going back-to England I mean. I won't be starting at UWA next term." She peeked over at Nathan to gauge his reaction. He had a strangled look of confusion about him like this had come completely out of the blue, totally unexpected despite the fact that he had to know she'd been dodging his calls on purpose.

"I see," he said, his usual smile replaced with a pair of thin lips, tightly pressed and crinkled.

"Things here…they just aren't working out like I'd hoped."

"Things like me." It wasn't a question.

"No, I just-I thought this was where I was supposed to be. I thought there were things I needed to do."

"And now?" Nathan asked, his voice on the verge of cracking.

"I-I don't know," Hermione admitted honestly. "But I know I can't figure it out here. I came here for one reason and stayed for another. I did what I was supposed to do. Everything-everything else was a mistake."

"Including me." Hermione tensed as Nathan spoke, not attempting to deny it this time.

"Look, Nathan. I-I'm really sorry, but—"

Nathan cut her off with a noise somewhere between a snort and strangled cry. "_But_; Seems to be the word of choice in situations like this, don't it?"

"Please don't be mad," Hermione said pleadingly.

"Who's mad?" Nathan asked, slowly losing his cool.

"I didn't set out to do this."

"Then what were you trying to do?" he snapped. "I like you Hermione. I. Like. You. And I thought-I thought—"

"And I like you too," Hermione said honestly, "just…not enough. It-we were never supposed to happen. I-I'm sorry."

"And _there's_ the apology. Tell me, did you read how to break up with someone in one of your little books, where it says everything will be okay as long as you apologize?" he asked a bit nastily. "Did you forget to read the part about what happens _after_ you leave and go back to _your _life? Oh wait, I forgot. Books never tell _that _part of the story. History's always written by the winners.

"No," Hermione told him, trying not to sound defensive, trying not to break down again. "It's just…I've never done this before."

"What? Completely disregard someone else's feelings?" Hermione flinched. "No wonder you didn't tell your friend you were leaving. You're god awful at talking to people, you know that?"

"I—"

"You've been here two-and-a-half months and I don't know anything important about you. And I bet you can't remember anything important about me either.

He was right. She'd had to hold back from the moment she met Nathan, knowing she couldn't share anything about the last seven years of her life. She may've tried to leave that part of her life back in England, but it was a part of her. And on some level, it had stopped her from getting to know him as well, almost as if she thought it unfair to know his desires, his deepest secrets without the ability to reciprocate. "Then why do you care so much?" Hermione said bravely.

This set him back. And after a moment's floundering, he seemed to calm down, his anger abating, replaced with disappointment. "Has anyone ever told you you're too clever for your own good?"

There was the slightest hint of that gleaming smile on his face, and Hermione knew the worst was over. "Yes," she admitted, thinking of Ron and Harry. "Quite often actually." He laughed, though it quickly turned into a cough. She laid a hand on his arm, pushing away memories of the last time she'd willingly touched him. "I didn't set out for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you."

"No-one ever does," Nathan said. "But it happens anyway, doesn't it?"

_Far too often_, she agreed silently.

...

Hermione stayed for quite a while, talking to Nathan. She'd listened to him explain his side of things, to get out the words and feelings he felt he needed to, but in the end it had been a clean break. There'd been no promises to stay in touch, no empty commitment to try and be friends.

Though it was quite late, she decided to walk home, turning over recent events in her mind. She should've known Nathan would be upset; just because she had never been fully-committed to the idea of them being a couple didn't mean he'd felt the same. But the pain she'd heard in his voice…she was surprised someone could feel so strongly after only a few months. And if that was how Nathan had reacted to her abandonment, how would Ron—and Harry—react when she tried to explain herself.

Since the talk with her mum, she'd set in-motion plans to return. As expected she'd lost her job at the café, but she'd at least she had some seed money to live on when she went back. She knew her parents were staying here; they were happy here, happier than they'd been in ages, even if they didn't quite know why. When she'd told them she wanted to go back to England, finish her schooling at Hogwarts, her father had supported her as always. After all, he'd been the first to point out that something had been missing from her life here. And her mum…at least she understood that it wasn't a reflection on her, on them. Surprisingly, Hermione found it harder to tell her mum about the decision than her dad. She'd never felt so close, so connected to her mother until their talk, and now she was planning on leaving her again. But though they'd always be a part of her, she knew this just wasn't her life anymore…if it ever was to begin with.

Still, she hadn't talked to Gibbons or anyone at the Australian Ministry about setting up a return Portkey yet. Once she'd committed to leaving, she'd felt like racing home, not wanting to waste any time. But she was also hesitant; her leaving in the first place, and everything leading up to it, had all happened so quickly that she didn't want to rush into any more mistakes. And more importantly, she was absolutely dreading what would happen when she saw her friends face to face.

Harry, she hoped, would forgive her. Or at the very least he would accept her misguided choices and put her mistakes behind them just as she'd always done for him, knowing his intentions were good at heart. Still, she hated the thought that he might look at her actions as those of just one more person in his life abandoning him. He'd lost so much already, and she wanted to be someone he knew he could always count on, always look to for support and friendship, Riddle or no Riddle.

Hermione thought that if she explained the situation with her parents he might even understand, maybe better than anyone; he knew what it was to want happiness for one's parents, to desire a loving family. But she also knew she couldn't tell him, not because he would judge her or turn her in, but because he wouldn't. She knew Harry would support her decision to keep her parents' memories altered out of his sense of loyalty, and that was a burden he didn't deserve to carry. It was her choice, her decision, her guilt to live with.

No, she was confident that things between her and Harry would be fine, sooner or later. That was just how their relationship worked. Ron on the other hand…

As she walked, she remembered their past fights: their argument over Scabbers, their row after the Yule Ball, Lavender, the locket and a hundred smaller moments in between. Every time it had felt like the end of their friendship, or at least the end of the world. But somehow, they'd always found their way back to each other, coming out the other side stronger and closer than before.

But she couldn't shake her fear that this time things were different. In the past, she'd always felt they'd shared the blame for hurting one-another, for questioning their friendship, for being too stubborn to admit their part in it. But this time there was no question of who was at-fault. A part of her was still hurt that Ron had sent her away so easily, seemingly without a second thought, but she'd come to realize she hadn't given much consideration for his side of things. In Ron's eyes, he'd only done what was best, for both them and their respective families. But try as she might, there was no angle she could take to make her own actions any better. Because she _knew _he would've understood her decision to stay in Australia if only she'd told him, if only she'd explained herself first. He wouldn't have liked it, might've yelled at her and chewed her out and called her stupid or self-sacrificing or misguided, but in the end he would've let her go until she was ready to return.

_Or_, she thought amusedly, _he would've come after me and dragged me back to England kicking and screaming. _Which, she realized, is exactly what she'd condemned him for _not _doing in the first place, ironically enough.

And now she was faced with having to explain everything, including Nathan. What she feared most was that he wouldn't even give her the chance. So, she'd come up with a plan. There was a month left before term started. It would take a few days to arrange a Portkey and few more to pack everything she'd need. Hermione wished she could just show up at the Burrow unannounced asking if she could co-opt half of Ginny's room once more, but that was unrealistic. So she'd find somewhere else to stay—the Leaky Cauldron perhaps—and write Harry, or maybe Ginny, telling them she was back and wanted to see them. That would give her a few weeks to set things right with Harry, or at least make a good start. And Ron…Ron would be more difficult. She knew she couldn't rush in and tell him everything. He'd hate her for it, for all of it. She knew that was a possibility no matter what, but she at least wanted to give herself the time to explain things, to show him how much she cared, to convince him that she loved him as much as he loved her, before telling him the truth. She just couldn't stomach the possibility of ruining their chances before it even started. It was the same reason she had never planned to tell him that she had kissed Viktor back in fourth year. She just hoped that she'd learned enough from that mistake; she knew he deserved the truth…just, not until he was prepared for it, until she knew where they stood, until she knew he hadn't already changed his mind about her.

When she reached her parents' house, she was surprised to see that the lights were still on inside, wondering what her parents could still be doing up so late. An eerie sense of foreboding crept across her skin and she reached for her wand before remembering she'd put it away. She opened the door and walked down the hall toward the sound of chattering voices. She walked into the room, her gaze sweeping over her parents' visitors unbelievingly.

"Hermione, sweetheart, your friends have come to see you," her mum said, and Hermione could hear the strained cheer in her voice as she opened her mouth to mechanically greet Ginny and Harry before forcing her eyes to meet _his_.

"Ron," Hermione gasped softly, feeling her legs wobble beneath her as she looked at him for the first time in months outside her dreams, as all the time she'd planned to take things slow, to do things right, evaporated in an instant.

"Hey."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This chapter's title comes from the song "Tangled Up in Blue" by Bob Dylan off his album _Blood on the Tracks_.

Had to squeeze one last angsty chapter in before the two-part finale. As you can see, we're back to where we ended chapter 1. Hopefully this chapter makes some sense of the things Hermione told Ron back in Chapter 19. And even if you half hate Hermione by this point, I hope you can find some pity for the poor girl after reading about what she went through.


	30. CH29: Love Calls You By Name

**A/N: **And here it is, after an extended absence, the triumphant (or perhaps pitiful is more accurate) return of 'Closer'! Now fess up: how many of you thought I abandoned this fic?

Seriously though, apologies for leaving everyone hanging, especially with the story in such a state of disarray. I could explain what happened, offer my reasons and excuses. But you guys are here to read fanfiction, not listen to a twenty-something guy moan about his first-world problems. But I assure you I never meant to abandon updates for so long. If you really want to know the whole story of what happened, feel free to PM or check my profile as I'll be updating it with a long apology and explanation And I want to thank everyone who stuck with it anyway and has been waiting for the big finale with baited breath.

Now, to get down to business. Before you start reading, I want to note that all previous chapters have been re-edited to sync with the changes I made to 'Closer' before posting Chapter 28. I strongly urge you to reread them again at some point, either before or after reading Chapter 29. I know that's asking a lot with a fic as long as this one, especially when only the most careful readers will notice a lot of the minor changes. But at the very least, you really should reread chapter 19 as it went through the biggest change in light of the 'new' chapter 16. Plus it's probably been a while and you guys might need to refresh yourselves with the events that lead Ron and Hermione to this chapter. And if you guys do reread I hope you'll tell me what you think of the edits, even if you wish I'd kept things as they were before.

And finally, I've changed things up a bit for chapters 29 and 30; instead of getting one chapter of Hermione and one of Ron like we've been doing all story, we'll be jumping between them from scene to scene in these final chapters. It's a bit different, but trust me, it works a lot better this way and is all but necessary. So without further ado…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29: Love Calls You By Name<strong>

_14 June, 1999_

Ron grabbed a copy of _Witch Weekly _from the waiting room table, opened it up, leafed through a few pages and put it back down again. He crossed his left leg over his right, uncrossed them, then crossed the right over the left. He uncrossed them again, slumped in his chair and put his hands in his pockets before sitting back up, his left hand fiddling with the Deluminator, wishing it would instill the usual sense of calm it gave him when he played with it.

He was nervous, and Ron Weasley was never nervous. Okay, so he _used _to feel nervous all the time, whether it was an upcoming Quidditch match, or what prank the twins would try and play on him that day, if Hermione would find out about his ridiculous crush on her, or especially whether Harry would be alright. But that was all in the past. For the last year, he couldn't remember feeling nervous once. Sure, he'd practically dreaded a few of his encounters with Hermione, but he'd always know how they would turn out: a disaster. Working at the shop had given him a lot of confidence, boosted by _The Daily Prophet_ anointing him as the 'good guy' of the trio and resulting flock of fan mail that had slowly trickled down to just a letter or two every few weeks. He had his mum back now, and George, and had even proven he could fight his own battles without needing Harry there to hold his hand.

_So then why the fuck am I shaking like I'm a first year just about to be sorted? _Ron wondered, slipping his hands out of his pockets and bracing them on his knees to stop them from jiggling. _I've taken tests before. I took the O.W.L.s and those turned out right, didn't they?_

"Mr. Weasley? They're ready for you," announced the young secretary while flashing him a soft, comforting smile. Ron practically jumped out of his seat. Composing himself, he tried to smile back, but it came out more like a grimace. Steeling himself, he walked to the door, opened it and walked inside to meet his future.

_19 June, 1999_

"Everyone? Everyone please calm yourselves. There is no need pushing, there are plenty enough boats for everyone. Mr. Goyle? Mr. Goyle I'm sorry, you need to head to the carriages. Your O.W.L. results weren't quite enough and I'm afraid you'll need to repeat fifth year for the third time."

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she listened to Headmistress McGonagall's stern voice as she stood among the clump of students standing in the shadow of the castle above a narrow passageway. She knew as Head Girl she should probably be helping but couldn't quite bring herself to scold her classmates for their rowdiness. They were excited; the end of the year feast was over, their N.E.W.T. results were in, and in a few minutes they'd be gliding back across the Black Lake to the Hogwarts Express, ending their seven—and in some cases more—years of schooling the same way they'd began.

"Seventh years! Seventh years, this way," called Hagrid from the front, waving his arm to signal that they should follow him down to the boats. "It'll be a tigh' fit, so I want yew lot to stay single-file. Don' need any accidents on your last day, yeah?"

Hermione watched as the seventh years make their way down the passage and begin piling into the boats, Ginny, Dean and Luna all squeezing into one together.

"Are you not planning on joining your classmates Miss Granger?"

Hermione jumped as she turned to see McGonagall staring at her intensely. "I'm surprised to see you here Professor. I thought this was part of Professor Flitwick's responsibilities now as Deputy Headmaster," Hermione said, sidestepping the question.

McGonagall's mouth twitched in what might've passed as a smile for her. "Yes, well, with the, ah, unavoidable circumstances the last few years, I didn't get the chance to give the graduating students a proper sendoff. So I thought I'd let Professor Flitwick off the hook…for old time's sake."

Hermione understood the Headmistress's respect for tradition and suspected that even a year into the job, McGonagall probably still felt like she was only filling in for Professor Dumbledore. Maybe she wasn't quite ready to accept the fact that that era was truly over, and another begun. She certainly could relate.

"I wanted to thank you for everything you did this year, helping to make the transition to normality an easier one for both the students and staff," McGonagall continued.

"I just tried to do my job," Hermione said humbly, though still tingling at receiving one last piece of praise from her favorite teacher.

"Well the year is over. You're quite free to 'let your hair down' with the rest of your friends."

Hermione looked away. "It's just strange. I rode across the lake with Harry, Ron and Neville before first year. It doesn't feel quite right to do it again without them."

She heard McGonagall sigh. "A part of me wishes they'd come back-not Mr. Longbottom of course since he was here last year, but Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. I'm sure you felt the same in their absence this year."

Hermione shook her head. "No. I mean of course I wanted them with me, but they went where they were needed. It's just time I joined them." She laughed and looked back at McGonagall. "Past time actually."

This time Professor McGonagall gave her something that could constitute an actual smile. "Well, if you're not taking the boats, might I suggest you get a move-on? There might be a few carriages left if you hurry.

Hermione opened her mouth to thank the woman that had served as a model of inspiration for her and all her fellow Gryffindors, but the Headmistress had already started her lonely march back toward the castle. She turned and with one last look at the student-filled boats as they began to leave the shore, set off for the carriages.

She got there just in time to see the last one set off down the path to the Hogwarts Express which didn't bother her in the least. She didn't mind walking. In fact it made sense, she thought as she started walking down the path. If she couldn't leave Hogwarts with Ron and Harry by her side, she may as well leave the place the same way she'd arrived almost eight years ago: alone.

Only she wasn't alone, as she soon realized after spotting the cloaked form of Professor Blake walking the same path ahead of her, and hurried to catch up.

"Professor! Professor!" Hermione called out, feeling slightly out of breath as he turned at the sound of her shouts.

"Miss Granger," he said formally in greeting. "I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you'd be out there with the rest of the graduates," he said, inclining his head at the fleet of boats.

"Well you were the one who told me I could find my own path," Hermione said as they resumed walking together. "But I could say the same thing about you."

"Actually my dear, I was on my way to the station in the hopes of seeing you one last time before you left our fine institution forever."

Blake smiled as he spoke but Hermione remained silent, waiting to hear whatever it was he had to say to her with a slight feeling of unease and the signs of the onset of another of her now-common headaches.

"I just wanted to let you know that I've grown…fond of you this past year. I've encountered very few young witches and wizards that possess the same potential and promise as yourself. I almost feel as though I have a personal stake in your future, and if you ever find yourself in need of someone to talk to, it would be my honor to listen."

Hermione swelled with pride and gratitude at his words. Professor Blake had been one of the few people who didn't seem to care about her past. He didn't see her as a member of the famous trio, the girl who'd self-appointed herself Head Girl at the age of eleven and was known as the brightest witch of her age, or someone who'd spent her entire lift in the pursuit of perfection only to make an irrevocable mistake with the severest of consequences as a result of her own insecurities and stupidity; he seemed to actually see her as Hermione, as a person whose life wasn't already over and decided by age nineteen for better or for worse. And best of all, he'd managed to get her to believe it as well…mostly.

"Thank you Professor. I just want to tell you what a help you've been this year."

Blake smiled again. "It was my pleasure my dear. And if there's…anything I can do for you in the future, don't hesitate to let me know. I can't promise I'll always be of help, but I will do my utmost to try."

They finally reached Hogsmeade Station and parted ways, Hermione off toward the prefect's carriage, hoping Andrew Davies would keep his mouth shut so the meeting could be a short one. As she was about to step onto the train, she cast one last look back at Hogwarts. She couldn't even see it from that distance, but she knew it was there. Looking back, her last year hadn't exactly been a happy one, and a part of her understood it had been a mistake to return.

She'd thought finishing school properly—the way she'd always expected to—was what she'd needed to do to find normality again after the war, but the truth was it had just been a way to put off starting the next part of her life, of avoiding her real responsibilities to herself and to her friends and future. It was the same mistake she'd made over and over again since leaving the Burrow and going to Australia last May and she felt like cowering in remembering how trapped she'd felt in that downward spiral that she was only now beginning to climb back out of. But she also knew what she'd learned from those mistakes had been necessary.

And so, without another look at what she was leaving behind, Hermione turned her back Hogwarts, never to return.

…

"Nice of them to just give you the day off," Ron commented to Harry as the two of them trailed behind George and Mrs. Weasley on Platform 9 ¾, making their way through the jostling crowd of witches and wizards. "Auror office must not be as grueling as I've always heard if they can afford to give Harry Potter the day off just to let him meet his girlfriend at the train station. Tell me: how long before they start giving me those kind of perks?"

"Not until you change your name to Harry Potter," Harry replied cheekily. "Just let me know if you want it. I'm happy to swap any time you are."

"That's only half the solution," George called back, grinning fiendishly. "He also needs a girlfriend and that's a problem less easily solved."

"I'm working on it," Ron growled back as his mum reprimanded George for teasing his brother.

"Does that mean you're ready to fix things with Hermione?" Harry asked casually, though Ron detected a bit of eagerness in his voice.

"I keep telling you we've already patched things up fine. We're just friends."

Harry looked at him confused. "Then who do you mea—"

"Look there's Neville," Ron said, cutting off Harry's question as he spotted their friend surrounded by a pack of young witches and wizards pestering him with questions. "Hey Neville. They give you the day off too? I tell you, I think I'm going to like being an Auror a lot more than working at the shop."

"Yup," Neville said happily, looking relieved at being rescued from his fan club. "It's been kind of slow since you helped capture the Lestranges. Hopefully with all the known Death Eaters accounted for, things will stay that way."

The group of kids that had been gawking at Neville had finally noticed

"So, excited to have your girlfriend back, mate?" Ron asked, clapping Neville on the shoulder before continuing without giving Neville the chance to answer. "I hope you're handling it with a bit more dignity than this one," he said, pointing a thumb at Harry. "Git's been bouncing around the house for the past week with excitement. Reminds me of Pig when I've got a letter for him. Funny to watch but ruddy embarrassing if you ask me."

"Well it's a good thing no one asked you," George said, joining them out of nowhere. "C'mon. Mum found Ginny."

"Ron," asked Neville in puzzlement, "what were you talking about back there about me missing my girlfriend?"

"Err, Luna," Ron said uncertainly, suddenly fearing he may have put his foot in his mouth by bringing up a sore subject if they'd broken up after the New Year's Ball, and remembering Luna's own words to him as they'd danced.

"Loony Lovegood? Xenophilius's batty daughter? You're dating her Nev?" George said, looking both shocked and amused.

"She doesn't really like that name, you know," Neville said seriously, giving George an intimidating look that was the complete opposite of his usual demeanor. Seeing it, Ron understood how the once pudgy, insecure boy Neville used to be could now be counted among the Ministry's most promising young Aurors. Neville had truly grown up a lot the past few years into a man his parents would be proud of.

"I didn't mean anything by it," George said, not looking intimidated in the slightest. "But tell us; are you dating her or not?"

"Of course not," Neville said, now blushing furiously and refusing to meet any of their expectant eyes. "I don't know where you got such a ridiculous idea."

"But you went to the ball with her," Ron said, starting to feel like he'd missed something.

"As friends," Neville said bashfully.

"But you were always asking me about her, asking if Ginny mentioned her when I talked to her," Harry persisted.

"C'mon Nev. Don't hold out on us," said George. "It's always the crazy ones that are best in the sack. Why just the other night Angelina—"

"Ugh," Ron interrupted. "No one wants to hear about the shite you and Angeline do to each other."

"Maybe you should listen Ronniekins. Might pick up a few pointers."

"I'd rather ask Percy," Ron shot back and George mimed like Ron had just stabbed him in the heart.

"Ignore them," Harry told Neville. "You and Luna really were never together?"

"Well…" the Weasley brothers and Harry leaned in conspiratorially as Neville turned a fine shade of crimson. "Last summer…we spent a lot of time together. And I started to think that maybe…and she brought up the idea…but we were never really…"

"Oh come on, out with it already," said George impatiently.

"We-we kissed, alright."

Ron blinked. It was strange to hear it out loud. He'd been under the impression that they'd been a couple for over a year now, had seem them dance together and hold hands, but he'd never actually gotten so far as to actually _picture_ them doing anything more than that.

"That bad at it, are you?" George said tactlessly, unknowingly echoing Ron's own words to Harry long ago as nodding his head in understanding. "Maybe I can give you some pointers while I'm teaching Ron here.

"It wasn't like that," Neville said, blushing even more furiously than before. "I think we were both sort of confused. It seemed to make sense, like it was expected for us to take that next step. But it was just too weird."

"Well what else did you expect when you kissed Loony Lovegood?"

Neville was too preoccupied to reprimand George this time. "I mean I can't really be sure since I don't have any siblings, but it felt like I was kissing my sister or something." He seemed to snap out of his musings and realized he had been talking out loud. "Sorry. Did-did everyone think we were a couple?"

"Not really," said Harry assuredly.

"Pretty much," Ron said at the same time, receiving an elbow in the ribs from Harry for his honesty.

Neville looked at the both of them pointedly "Weird how people make assumptions like that. I mean I guess I can see why…but I would've thought at least you two would've just asked me."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"Well…I mean everyone thought-I mean not _everyone_…but there was always talk that you and Hermione would…_y'know_," Neville said, addressing his comment at Harry. "And I know it bothered you, especially in fourth year, because you didn't fancy her and you knew she fancied someone else."

If Ron hadn't been so uncomfortable at the unspoken implication of his past relationship with Hermione, he would've laughed at the irony. Most people—himself included at times—had spent years assuming Harry and Hermione fancied each other. He wondered how many would be shocked to find out instead it was he and Hermione who were romantically linked—or had been, anyway.

"So what about Dean?" Harry asked, sensing Ron's discomfort.

"Well…that's sort of Dean's business, but yeah I think he fancied Luna quite a bit."

"Who fancies me?" a dreamy voice asked, and the boys turned to find Luna standing before them, dressed in fluorescent purple robes that made Ron wonder how she'd managed to approach them unnoticed.

"No-one," said Neville quickly and Ron actually did laugh when Luna just blinked in response. If it had been any other girl who'd just been told that absolutely no-one fancied her, she'd probably be struggling to hold back tears, but Luna remained completely unfazed.

The three younger boys and Luna exchanged quick greetings, though Ron noted Neville was the only one who received a hug.

"You're Ronald's brother George," Luna said, turning to look at George. "I met you at your brother Bill's wedding two years ago. I thought it was quite a lovely ceremony, up until the Death Eaters arrived."

"Did you now?" George said, grinning. "Must've slipped my mind. Funny 'cause I'm _sure _I'd remember meeting someone like _you_."

"Well, you were a bit distracted," Luna continued. "I seem to recall you were busy telling one of the bride's relatives that you had a talent for removing girls' knickers with just your teeth."

George's mouth dropped while Neville, Harry and Ron cracked up. "Have to remember to tell Angelina that one," Ron wheezed out between laughs, his eyes watering with merriment.

It took George only a moment to recover, his eyes flashing darkly. "Go ahead. You do that and watch what happens little brother. Remember, I know where you sleep." He turned to look at the other boys. "That goes for you too Potter. And Neville…I have my ways of finding out."

Neville looked a bit worried, but Ron just broke out into another fit of laughter. "So what happened?" asked Harry. "Did you get to show her your trick?"

"Ah, a gentlemen doesn't kiss and tell," George said suavely, before glancing around to make sure Mrs. Weasley was too busy fussing over Ginny to overhear. "But as anyone will tell you, I'm no gentlemen so let's just say my trick's a bit harder to pull off when the girl isn't_ wearing_ any knickers to begin with," he whispered, before the four of them broke off into peels of laughter once more.

"Do I even want to know what you idiots are laughing about?" asked Ginny, greeting them all with a big grin.

"Definitely not," Ron and Harry said immediately.

"You're too young for that sort of thing anyway," said George superiorly as she gave Harry a hug and a short kiss. "Hands where I can see them Potter. That goes for you too. Mum would murder me if she thought I was corrupting her doe-eyed, innocent Harry."

"You mean you're not going to offer to teach Harry the same tricks you offered to share with me and Neville?" Ron asked, snickering.

"Definitely not," George said, as Ginny gave Harry a look that Ron knew meant he'd better have an explanation ready for her by the time they got back to the Burrow.

"I'm not sure George has any tricks left to teach you at this point. Seems to me the student has become the master."

He'd known she would be there, even prepared himself for it, but the sound of Hermione's voice sent a shiver through Ron's body. God, he missed the sound of her voice, and every time they went more than a week without speaking he forgot the effect it had on him. He looked at her, standing there seemingly uncertain whether or not she still belonged, if she was intruding where she wasn't wanted. But _want_, Ron knew, had never been the problem.

"Well you'd certainly be the one to ask," said George wickedly, sensing the opportunity for mischief. "So tell us Hermione, how do _you _find Ron's tricks? Are they satisfactory? Everything you could hope for in a bloke?"

Hermione looked confused, obviously not understanding what George was really talking about, though Ron felt his ears going pink at the implication. "Why are you asking me? You were his boss. Shouldn't you know? Or you could ask Verity as I suppose you missed most of his work getting the shop up and running."

"Merlin, I hope I never have to witness Ron in action ever again," said George, his face twisted in disgust. "I walked in on him one time and it's not something I want to inflict myself with a second time. But Verity, you say? Hmm, tell us Ronnie; does Verity like what she's see of your repertoire?" Ron felt himself coloring. "I can't remember hearing any complaints from her about your performance, but I'll have to ask her at work tomorrow. Don't worry," he continued, winking at Hermione, "I'll report back everything she tells me."

"Ignore him," said Harry again, moving forward to hug Hermione, though Ron was unsure if he was talking more to Hermione or the group as a whole. "George is trying to make up for lost time now that he's back to his old self."

"Oh, well that's a relief," Hermione said dryly, as she and Harry separated, looking at Ron as she spoke, waiting for him to make the first move. And as Ron's shoes felt like they'd been Transfigured to lead, she might have waited a very long time if Mrs. Weasley hadn't bustled over to them and told them it was time to go.

"Oh it's such a relief now that you lot all can Apparate and we don't have to worry about using the Floo Network or renting a car and having to deal with all that traffic. Only trouble is finding a safe point to Disapparate from with so many Muggles around. Now come on, George. You can grab Ginny's bags. Ginny, you've got Pig. Harry dear, you come with me. I'm afraid my Apparating skills are still a bit rusty."

They all said goodbye to Neville and Luna before setting off toward the barrier back to King's Cross, Ginny sniggering as Harry left her side to escort Mrs. Weasley, leaving a still-frozen Ron behind for a moment. When his feet started working again, he followed, noticing that Hermione was struggling to handle both her trunk and Crookshanks's cage.

"I can get that," Ron said, as he fell into step alongside her.

"I've got it," Hermione said, her face scrunched up tightly, perhaps a bit upset at his lack of greeting.

"Clearly," Ron said, as she continued to drag one end across the floor. "I'm just saying, if you wanted some help…I'm offering."

Her features relaxed. "Thank you," she said, allowing him to take it from her.

"Merlin's beard," Ron grunted, taking the trunk from her. "Did you try and bring half the library home with you? You can always go back and visit, you know."

"I would never steal from the library," she said, sounding almost offended at the suggestion.

"Picked up _Magick Moste Evile_ in Flourish and Blotts did you?" he asked, grinning. Hermione huffed, before smiling too. "You know you could've just charmed this thing so it wasn't so heavy," he said, struggling a bit himself with the weight of her trunk. "Or did you forget you're a witch again?"

"My memory is perfectly fine, thanks. It seems you're the one who's forgetting we're about to be surrounded by Muggles who might find it odd that I was carrying a trunk like it was my purse."

Ron opened his mouth to retort but his mother interrupted him. "Hurry up you two. You're falling behind. No dawdling; there'll be plenty of time for you to catch up at the Burrow."

Ron hefted the trunk and followed Hermione through the barrier to King's Cross.

_6 July, 1999_

As it turned out, there wasn't much time for 'catching up,' or at least not as much as Hermione had hoped for. With so many people around, things had been a bit frantic at the Burrow. And as she'd had to leave early the next morning to catch a Portkey to Australia, she hadn't had another chance to speak with Ron alone.

But now she was back. She'd enjoyed the two weeks she'd spent with her parents, and already missed them, but there was no question how happy she was to be back at the Burrow…at least until she found a flat of her own.

It was her only legitimate excuse for being there. After she and Ginny had shared their N.E.W.T. results and Arthur had congratulated her on her new position at the Ministry, Molly had insisted she come back a few days early to stay with them while she hunted for a suitable flat and got settled in her new job which she wouldn't start until the twelfth: an arrangement Hermione was only too happy to accept if it gave her a reason to be around Ron and Harry.

As it turned out a lot had happened in her time away. Ginny had been offered a position on the Harpies' practice squad and would be spending much of the week signing contracts (something Percy had happily volunteer to help her with) and getting situated with her new teammates. And the morning after she'd arrived back in England an owl had arrived for Ron from the ministry with a letter of acceptance to the Auror academy. As a result, Mrs. Weasley had prepared a spectacular dinner in celebration of her children's achievements and Hermione's return and they were all situated around the dinner table chatting merrily.

"Feeling left out Harry?" teased George. "Your friends and girlfriend stealing the spotlight with their ickle new jobs."

"Says the guy who's in the same position he was two years ago," Ron spoke up in Harry's defense.

"Yeah, it's not as if Harry isn't _already_ an Auror," Ginny drawled sarcastically before reaching over to pat her boyfriend's hand.

"I just can't believe they're letting you skip an entire year of training," Mr. Weasley told Ron proudly. "It's unheard of."

Hermione instinctively opened her mouth to defend Ron even though she didn't know what exactly she felt she needed him from. Thankfully, there was no need.

"I'm not skipping it," Ron said around a mouthful of food before swallowing. "My evaluation scores were good enough to qualify as a second year trainee."

Hermione beamed silently before George had to go and ruin it.

"So you're only a-third as good as Harry?" George ribbed before looking considerade. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"George!" his mum scolded. "You should be proud of what your brother's doing."

"I'm just saying maybe he does need to go back to school if he's dumb enough to turn down an offer to skip it altogether."

"I'm sure he has his reasons even if he hasn't chosen to share them with you," Hermione said quickly. She was very proud that Ron wasn't rushing into things just because of some need to 'catch up' to Harry. His decision to take things slow was just one more testament to how much he'd matured in the last year and if some more training meant he'd be that much more prepared and less likely to be hurt, she'd have no problem if he spent the next ten years at the academy.

Looking mollified, George opened his mouth before Harry interjected, speaking up for the first time. "Actually, I have some news of my own." All eyes turned toward him as he took a deep breath and turned to look at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "I can't tell you both how much it means to me for letting me stay here—"

"It's nothing, dear," Mrs. Weasley said happily before scooping another helping of mash onto Ginny's plate. "You're welcome here as long as you like—"

"But I'm going to be moving out."

For a moment the room was completely silent. Even Hermione didn't know what to say; even though she'd been thinking about her own living situation she hadn't given a thought to Harry's…or Ron's or Ginny's for that matter. Ron's parents clearly loved having Harry there and she couldn't comprehend why he'd want to give up such a situation voluntarily.

Mr. Weasley was the first to find his voice. "Have you given this some thought Harry?"

Harry nodded. "For a while now. I actually found a flat in Muggle London about a month ago, but I was waiting…" he cast a sideways glance at Ron who was determinedly avoiding Harry's eyes. "I was just waiting to work out all the details and make sure I could afford it."

Arthur's eyes lit up. "Muggle London, you say? It'll be fascinating I'm sure. When do you move in?"

"End of the week," Harry answered, looking relieved that his leaving wasn't going to be a point of debate. Of course, that was before Molly weighed in.

"But…but Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said sounding distressed. "Surely you don't approve—"

"Of course I do. Harry's old enough to make decisions for himself," Mr. Weasley told his wife before turning back to Harry. "Bill and Charlie moved out as soon as they'd finished school. And Percy only stayed a year, and now Harry's done the same. Are you planning on getting a washing machine?" he asked, turning to Harry excitedly. "And one of those…felly-fellyvisions."

"Televisions, Dad," Ginny corrected him.

"I'm not sure," Harry said, smiling weakly at Mr. Weasleys enthusiasm. "I haven't really thought—"

"Oh just imagine: you'll have Muggles for neighbors! I'd love the chance to watch how they go about their lives. I imagine most wizards could learn a thing or two from them. It's an incredible opportunity. Harry, you don't think I might—"

"Excuse me!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Arthur, you cannot be encouraging this. Harry needs looking after; he can't live on his own."

Hermione saw Harry's gaze flicker back to Ron and for the first time she wondered what his plans were. She knew Ginny would be living at the Burrow, at least for the time being; the Harpies had their own camp where the players stayed during the preseason and she'd be doing so much traveling with the team that it didn't make sense for her to spend the gold for a place of her own once the season started. And as she'd only be on the practice squad to start her salary wasn't anything to brag about. But what about Ron? Surely if Harry was moving out he wouldn't want to be left behind at the Burrow. In her head, she'd always imagined the two boys staying together, wherever they went, especially now that Ron was joining the Aurors.

"Actually," Harry said, "I was going to write to Professor McGonagall and ask for Kreacher to come and live with me. And I…well I was going to ask Hermione if she wanted to move in too since she hasn't found a place yet."

Hermione was shocked yet again by Harry's invitation as everyone at the table shifted to look at her, awaiting her response. "I…I don't know what to say."

And truly she didn't. She was flattered certainly, touched that Harry would even want to live with her, especially in light of recent revelations. She looked at Ron, wondering what he thought of all this, or if he'd even known Harry's plans before the rest of them. He certainly didn't look surprised.

"Oh, well that's completely different," Mrs. Weasely said happily, now singing an entirely different tune and making George and Ginny laugh. "At least if the two of you are together, you'll be able to look after one-another. And a house-elf too…You both know you're welcome here any time you want?" she asked, fixing both of them with a stern look forcing them to nod their heads.

Hermione was too caught up with everyone acting like she'd accepted Harry's offer when she'd done nothing of the sort. Of course she would've loved to live with Harry: just knowing that she'd always have one of her best friends around would be a relief after feeling lonely and isolated for much of the past year. But there was the trouble of how Ron felt about such an arrangement.

"Can I be excused?" Ron asked, almost speaking up in sync with her thoughts. Mrs. Weasley nodded her approval before continuing on excitedly about their new living situation, promising to help them with decorating their new place and planning to subject Kreacher to cooking lessons just in case the elf was ill prepared. Hermione ignored her as her eyes followed Ron's departure from the table, listening to the sound of his feet on the stairs as he made his way up to his room.

Dinner passed slowly after that and Hermione had to restrain the urge to chase after Ron, but a look from Harry stilled her. After they'd finished and Mrs. Weasley told her not to worry about helping to clean up, Harry caught her eye and she followed him outside to the shed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that," Harry told her when they finally stopped walking.

"No, it's fine. You just surprised me."

"Look, I just want you to know that I asked Ron first."

"You-you did?"

Harry nodded. "A while ago actually. He didn't say anything, but I asked him again a few weeks ago after I found a place I thought would work but, well…"

Hermione didn't know what she was feeling: disappointed that she was only Harry's second choice or confused as to why Ron had turned down the offer.

"And…he didn't want to?"

Harry shrugged. "Guess not."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he's okay with the two of us living together," Hermione said, pointing out the obvious.

"It's not really his decision," Harry said simply.

"I know, but…I don't want to complicate things. I don't want to cause anymore problems between you two now that you've straightened things out—"

"You won't." Hermione looked at him skeptically. "Well…it might be a bit awkward…" She rolled her eyes, thinking that was quite the understatement, "…but maybe it's what we all need."

"What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head in consideration.

"Look, Ron was right; what goes on between you two is your business. But I'm not going to lose either of my best friends. I don't know if we can go back to the way it was before, but maybe if we find a way to make things normal again—"

"What, Harry?" Hermione asked, her emotions licking at her words suddenly. "You and I will play house and Ron will just forget everything I put him through?"

"No but…" Harry sighed. "Look, he's not the only one trying to deal with everything. I asked Ron if he wanted to live with me and he said no. I respect that and he'll respect my decision to ask you to live with me. He wouldn't want me to live my life trying to make sure I never upset him. And you can't live that way either."

"I know but…"

"It's over and done with. We just…we need to accept that and find out how to move on from where we are now. I mean you two are trying to be friends again, right? That's what you both want?"

Hermione felt like laughing, or maybe crying. Oh how was she supposed to answer that sort of question? Of course she wanted to be friends with Ron again, was putting herself through hell just by being around him in the hope that _someday_ they could get back to that place. But how could she fool herself into believing that friendship was _all _she wanted between them? What would she do when he brought a girlfriend over to hers and Harry's flat? What about when _he _moved in with a girl, one who wasn't just a best mate? She had been so happy after the progress they'd made after her interview, so busy with graduation and preparing to start her new life that she hadn't really considered the real challenges she'd face as Ron's _friend _once she was free from the restraints of school. Everything had seemed easier then, like it was actually possible for things to fall right back into the same places they'd been a year ago; but now the reality of the situation appeared impossibly difficult. _I just have to try harder_, Hermione resolved, unwilling to let Ron slip out of her life altogether.

"I should probably go check on him," Harry said, startling her out of her reverie. "Just think about it okay? I'd love to share a place with my sister…if you can put up dirty Auror robes being left all over the place," he joked.

Hermione actually did laugh this time, but it was a hollow sort of laugh. "Believe me Harry: your dirty socks are the least of my worries."

_7 July, 1999_

Ron woke groggily as someone shook him out of his deep and surprisingly peaceful slumber. With a last moan of protest, he opened his eyes to find Hermione staring back at him.

"Wuzzgoinon?" he asked sleepily.

"It's almost noon, and I thought it was about time you got up. Plus I figured you could use some lunch," she said softly, offering him a plate of sandwiches like it was a peace offering.

"Thanks," he told her, taking one and stuffing it into his mouth.

"It's not much, but it was all I felt confident in preparing. I have a long way to go before I'm as good with cooking spells as your mum or Fleur…or you."

Ron nodded appreciatively, deciding there was no point in reminding Hermione that her limited cooking skills had kept them from starving while they looked for Horcruxes last year. "So what? Mum sent you up because she knew you wouldn't just let me roll back over for another kip?" he asked, reaching for a second sandwich.

"Actually we're the only one's here," she said, biting her lip nervously. "Everyone else left hours ago."

Ron choked a bit on his sandwich in surprise, his comfortable demeanor vanishing in an instant at her words. "Where'd they go?" he asked apprehensively.

"To see Fleur and the baby. Andromeda was bringing Teddy over for a play date and Harry had the day off so he and Ginny decided to go with your mum."

"Yeah, I'm sure she wouldn't miss that," Ron sighed, before finally getting out bed, relieved that he'd worn more than just his shorts to bed. "Why didn't you go with them?" he asked, pulling on a shirt while Hermione turned away politely.

"I had some things I needed to do and I thought it might be easier with everyone out of the house," she stated, peeking at him to make sure he was dressed.

"Guess this place can be a bit mad at times. Hard to have a moment's peace with Mum these days."

"It's lovely," Hermione sighed contentedly.

Ron watched her for a moment before shaking his head clear of cobwebs. "So what are you doing up here? House too quiet to study? Or were you just bored and needed a break?" Ron asked curiously, wondering why Hermione had disturbed her solitude to wake him.

"Well actually I wanted to ask your help with something."

Ron groaned "Don't tell me Mum left some chores and you wanted some help"

"No, not exactly…" She looked at him nervously. "I thought you might help me cut my hair."

That was about the last thing Ron was expecting. "Huh?" he asked dumbly.

"It's just…my first day at Ministry is on Monday and I haven't had it cut in ages and I thought it might be a good idea to start things off on a new foot."

He looked at her, searching for an ulterior motive but found nothing. "Uh, yeah sure. You know I've never done anything like this before."

She looked relieved now that he'd agreed. "That's alright. I trust you. Look, you finish eating and meet me in Ginny's room. I'll go get everything set up." And before he had a chance to utter another word, she'd swept out of the room, leaving him with his plate of sandwiches and a mystified expression on his face.

After two more sandwiches and a quick shower, Ron made his way down to Ginny's room to find Hermione waiting in a chair in the center of the room. "Ready to get started?" she asked happily.

Ron made his way over to stand behind her, taking the scissors she offered. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Not really," she laughed honestly. "But I really do need it cut. It's such a distraction and I don't want to have to deal with it falling in my face all the time when I'm trying to work." Still Ron hesitated and Hermione spoke up to reassure him. "Don't worry. We can just get your mum to fix it with magic if you botch it."

"You sure you don't just want to wait for her?" Ron asked as he snipped the first lock of hair from her bush mane and watched it fall to the floor. "Mum always cut our hair when we were little and I'm sure she'd do a better job of it than me."

"It's just hair," she told him. "And like I said, I trust you."

Ron gulped as he cut another piece, just as nervous as before. He worked on in silence, the mountain of brown curls building around his feet. But after he established a sort of rhythm, it didn't seem too bad. Hermione didn't flinch or anything as he sliced through the mass of hair he'd come to know so well, even love, over the years. It was easy being around her like this, so long as they didn't say anything.

"So last night…I noticed you left as soon as Harry mentioned the idea of me moving in with him."

Of course it couldn't last. He should've known she'd want to talk about what had happened last night. "Yeah…must've eaten too much. Upset stomach," he lied feebly as he snipped another bushel of curls.

"I'm sorry. You didn't even get pudding."

He couldn't believe she'd bought it. "No permanent damage," he said. "I managed to get your sandwiches down just fine today."

Another pause. "Are you…I mean are you alright…with what Harry suggested?" she asked softly and Ron could imagine the delicate worry expressed on her face as she spoke.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well I mean…he told me he asked you first, so I thought—"

"Harry wants to live with you," Ron interjected, assuming she was probably disappointed, thinking that she'd only been Harry's fallback and not his first choice. "He told me about he was going to ask you while you were in Australia. And last night…he seemed really excited about the idea."

"No, that wasn't…I mean…why did you tell Harry you didn't want to live with him?"

Ron was silent as he continued to work. He'd finally worked up the nerve and told Harry he wasn't going to move in with him after taking his Auror evaluations. Harry had accepted it, no questions asked, but Ron knew it must've stung a bit. But how could Ron explain his reasons when he didn't fully understand them himself?

Sure there was the issue of gold. The flat Harry had picked out was expensive, too expensive for an Auror-in-training salary. He had all the gold George had owed him for working at the shop, but he didn't want to piss it all away the first chance he got. It might've seemed a lot of money to him, but he knew it was knuts compared to what someone like Krum made. And he knew Harry would be more than willing to help cover Ron's share of the expenses if needed, but Ron didn't want to count on Harry for such things; Charlie had once told him that gold issues were the quickest way to break a friendship and no flat was worth the risk of losing Harry.

Harry had found his own way; he was moving out into his own place, he'd established himself as a first-rate Auror outside of his involvement in the war, all this without the support of his two best friends. And Ron just wanted a piece of that same thing, to prove that he was capable of standing tall on his own two feet.

Of course, he didn't much fancy being a fully-qualified wizard living in his parents home forever, but something told him to be patient and another opportunity would present itself.

"Dunno. It just…didn't feel right."

"It wasn't…because of me, or anything?" Hermione asked, practically whispering.

"What do you have to do with it?" he asked surprised.

"I don't know. Things are just…I know things are difficult between us right now."

"Yeah…?"

"Well…I didn't know if you were worried."

"About what?"

"About me being around all the time. If Harry and I were still friends and I was over at your place all the time to visit him. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Ron wanted to tell her that wasn't the case, but he knew it was a lie. Being around her—right now for instance—made his skin crawl, made his head feel light as a balloon and his jeans fit a little too snugly. His stomach was constantly turning in her presence, out of nervousness as well as the occasional memory of what she'd done.

"I always knew you and Harry would stay friends," he said plainly, not sure what else he could say.

"And what about us?"

Ron twitched, taking a larger chunk of hair off than he'd meant to and silently cursed himself. "You and I will always be friends," he said softly, needing to believe in the words as much as she did.

She pulled away from his hands to turn and look at him. "Are we though?" she asked, her eyes glistening faintly. "I mean I know we said we'd try…but you left the room at the very mention of me living with Harry. This is the first time we've managed to speak together for more than a few minutes at a time, and it took waiting until the rest of your family was out of the house to get you to agree to be in the same room as me."

"I'm not—"

"I _know _you're avoiding me, Ron," Hermione said. "And it's okay. I-I understand why. I don't want to_ force _you to be around me."

Ron turned her head and got back to work. He couldn't look at her, couldn't focus on anything except his desire to make everything better when she was crying. "You're not forcing anything. It's not that I don't want to," Ron said feebly. "I'm trying—"

"I know. And you have no idea how much that means to me…after everything…But…what if it's always this hard?"

"It'll get easier."

"But what if it doesn't?"

"It will," Ron promised, again hoping time would prove him right.

Hermione was right too thought. He'd known it'd be hard to forgive and forget and try and move on, but being around her like this all day, every day was torture. Every time he was around her he felt himself being pulled in opposite directions. A part of him wanted to flee at the sight of her, felt sick as his mind pictured those lips touching Nathan's, imagining his hands canvasing her flesh in ways his never would again, remembering how she'd lied to him for months, only admitting the truth after he'd confessed that he already knew. But the other part wanted to take her and carry her up to his room and finished what they should've done all those months ago, to bury the past where it belonged and be with her like he'd always wanted.

"Do you think you'll do it?" Ron asked, trying to shift the conversation away from _them _and back to her and Harry.

"Well it'd certainly be nice to have a flat mate. Living alone is sort of scary, isn't it? And I can't imagine a better roommate than Harry."

"I take it you haven't seen his room lately?" Ron joked lamely.

"Yes he's already warned me about leaving his dirty laundry lying around. But that's just another reason to do it, isn't it? Someone will have to make sure Harry doesn't overwork poor Kreacher."

"Only you," Ron said fondly, snipping a few more locks of hair. "You realize you'll have to let Kreacher do some work. Drive the little bugger mad if you didn't let him pick up after you."

Hermione giggled softly. "I suppose that'll do me some good. I mean if I'm planning on doing some real good for house-elves in the Ministry I'll have to get used to the idea that they really do like serving wizards. And what better way than to have a house-elf in my own home."

Hermione's admission was so surprising that Ron almost cut a chunk of hair that wasn't meant to be cut and started. Hermione whipped her head around when he jumped, afraid he'd made a mistake.

"All finished," Ron assured her quickly. He moved around to her front, thanking Merlin that her tears from earlier seemed to have stopped as he crouched down to examine his handiwork. He cupped her face with both his large hands, running his fingers through her soft hair. It was shorter than he'd ever seen it; the mass of curls was gone, leaving on chic wave that fell just around her ears in little ringlets. A part of him had moaned at the loss of each curl he'd snipped, but looking at the finished product he had to admit it looked good on her: different, but good.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked nervously and Ron realized he'd been staring at her rather intently.

"Just, uh, checking to make sure it's even," he said, removing his hands and standing quickly. "Check for yourself," he suggested. She stood and moved to look at Ginny's mirror, turning her head this way and that.

"I love it," she whispered as she turned to look at him.

Ron couldn't help but smile. "Yeah?"

She nodded, smiling back at him. "It looks okay in the back?"

He gulped, his throat bone dry. "Yeah it's…it's great."

She took a small step toward him. "Thank you."

He shrugged nervously, shifting his feet. "It was just a haircut."

She took another step. She was so close, the toes of her shoes touching his as she came to a stop and Ron managed to take a breath in relief. "Can I ask you something?" she asked softly. Ron nodded. "Do you…do you even _want _to be friends with me Ron?"

"I-I ah…"

Her hands reached up to his shoulders before sneaking behind to the back of his neck. "Don't you think that's part of the problem?" she whispered, sounding breathless. "Because I'm trying, really trying…but I can't thinking part of the reason why it's so difficult is that I can't help wanting..._more_."

"I don't think—"

"Then don't," she said before cutting him off as she pressed her lips to his.

Ron obliged more than willingly. He didn't want to think, not now, not when he could feel her mouth moving against his, felt her fingers playing in his hair as she pressed herself against him softly. If only they could just _feel_, without thinking, ever again. Everything seemed so right so long as he didn't…

He broke away, taking a step back and pressing the back of his hand to his lips as if he'd just been burned.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said immediately, looking _very_ guilty at what she'd done even though he was sure she'd been enjoying herself as much as he had and probably wouldn't have stopped if he hadn't.

"I can't—"

"I know. I didn't mean—"

"I can't. I can't do this," Ron said before fleeing the room, feeling very much like a little boy terrified of asking a girl to be his date to the Yule Ball.

His thoughts raced as he left Hermione standing there behind him. It had only been three days since Hermione had come to the Burrow, and there were still three more to go to go before she and Harry could move into their flat. He didn't know if he could last that long. Already the resistance he'd built up was crumbling based on what he'd just allowed to happen.

_What you wanted to happen_, a nasty voice inside his head told him.

This closeness was more painful than he'd imagined. Yes, they'd seen each other a lot over the past year, but their meetings had only ever lasted a few hours. And he'd always had an escape route, and more importantly, a place to escape _to_.

But now, she was always around: sitting at the dinner table, sleeping a few floors below him, laughing in just the next room over. She was a constant presence in his life, and every time he caught sight of her or heard her voice she invaded his thoughts. He should've known he wouldn't make it

But he had to. If he could just somehow avoid her for a few more days, she's be gone, and that bit of space between them would be back again and give him some breathing room.

Surprisingly he found Ginny and Harry downstairs, sitting together on the sofa, their foreheads touching, and he wondered if he'd interrupted a moment. _How long were we in there_, he asked himself, wondering when everyone else had been home and if they'd known what was going on above their heads.

"Hey mate," said Harry, reflexively putting a bit of distance between himself and Ron's sister. "What's up?"

"Relax," said Ron, taking a seat a safe distance away and reveling in the safety of the presence of his best friend and sister. "It's not like I haven't seen you two together before. I was there for your first snog after all."

"And I think everyone in the world was there for your first," Ginny shot back teasingly, gripping onto Harry's hand tightly when he tried to pull it away.

"When did you get back?" he asked them.

"About the same time George did," Harry said. _Merlin, I was alone with Hermione much longer than I thought._

"What are you up to?"

Ginny muttered something that sounded like "what's it look like?" but Harry innocently answered. "Nothing. Why? Fancy a game of chess?"

"Actually I was thinking about going out."

Ron hadn't actually been thinking any such thing, but he suddenly felt the strong desire to be anywhere except the Burrow which seemed suffocating at the moment.

Harry knew this probably wasn't a good sign. Ron almost never went out, hadn't in months. "Where to?"

Ron shrugged. "Pub maybe. Preferably one playing a Quidditch game on their wireless. Gotta be one going on somewhere right?"

"You want some company?"

At that moment, there was nothing Ron wanted more than to take his best friend up on his offer of company. But he knew Harry didn't really want to leave Ginny so soon after she'd gotten back from school. And while Ron wouldn't have minded his sister tagging along for once-remembering what he'd put Harry through sixth year with Lavender, he knew it was the least he could do for the happy couple—he understood that by asking the two of them along, it would be impossible not to extend the same invitation to Hermione, which would defeat the whole point of going out in the first place.

"Nah. Just want some quiet. I forgot how loud this place can be."

"Well a pub's definitely a good place to find some peace and quiet," Ginny snarked. Ron shot her a look and she smirked. "All right. But not too late, okay?"

"Yes Mum," Ron teased back. "I'll see you both later. And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Sure thing Dad," said Ginny, her attention all ready focused back on Harry as she scooted closer to him. Harry looked at him helplessly, and Ron had to laugh. He didn't think he'd ever be completely comfortable with seeing Harry and his sister together, but damn did he enjoy seeing the Chosen One whipped by his girlfriend.

On his way out he bumped into George. "Whoa, there ickle Ronniekins. Where's the fire?"

Suddenly Ron remembered Harry wasn't the only company available to him. "Going to the pub. Want to tag along?"

George considered him for a moment and Ron's ears reddened under the scrutiny, wondering if his brother could tell what had just happened to him. "Sure. Mind if I invite Angelina?"

"Sure, whatever," Ron said indifferently.

"Great," George said, slapping him on the back. "I'll go pick her up. Meet you at the Leaky?"

Ron nodded numbly before heading out the door toward the boundary of the Burrow and disappearing with a soft pop, finding himself in Diagon Alley.

By the time George and Angeline found him at the pub Ron was nursing his third glass of Ogden's.

"Save some for the rest of us, little brother," George ribbed, pulling up two seats.

"Leave him be," Angelina scolded. "And get us some drinks, would you sweetie?" she asked, batting her eyes at George who grumbled before standing right back up and heading to the bar. "So Ron, how are you?"

"M'fine," Ron said before taking another pull of Firewhiskey before realizing he needed to better contain his depression if he wanted to go on hiding it. "How are you? I haven't seen you—"

"Since you bumped into us here," Angeline said, nodded. "I'm good. Got a job for the Prophet writing a Quidditch column."

"That's great," Ron said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. Normally a career covering Quidditch matches would've been a topic that excited him, but not today.

She shrugged. "Beats working for the Ministry. Oh! Sorry. George tells me you're starting as an Auror soon."

"Just training," Ron grumbled.

"Well congratulations," she said, eyeing his moody temperament as George returned with their drinks.

"Here you are milady," he said, sliding one in front of Angelina.

"Georgie," she said sweetly, leaning forward and stroking his arm gently. "Would you mind giving us a moment?"

"Huh?" George said thickly.

"Maybe you'd like to say hello to someone?" she asked, still sounding of butterflies and rainbows. "I think I saw Flint on the way in. I hear he's signed with the Wasps practice squad."

"But I just sat down," George whined.

"Beat it Weasley."

Grumbling again, George stood and walked over to a table closer to the wireless to better hear the match between Tutshill and Wimbourne. Finally satisfied, Angelina took a long pull from her glass and turned back to Ron. "Alright, now what's the problem lover boy?"

"No problem," Ron lied thinly.

"Come on. George tells me you never drink so obviously something's happened. What is it? Trouble with a witch?"

"Something like that," Ron muttered into the new drink George had brought him.

"Well why don't you tell old Aunt Angie about it. Maybe I can help."

Ron couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah right."

Her eyes flashed dangerously and Ron was suddenly reminded of the grueling training sessions she'd put them through back in fifth year. "Believe it or not Ron, I am a girl."

"Why does every witch think I don't know that?" Ron said dramatically. "I know you're a bloody girl. I know _she's _a bloody girl too. I always knew."

Angelina's expression softened. "Come on. It can't hurt to talk about it. I promise I'll be more help than another glass of Firewhiskey. Not that you need it," she said, eyeing him as he took another drink.

Ron looked at her. _What do I have to lose_? "Are you and George…together?" he asked, making a crude hand gesture to punctuate his question.

She crinkled her nose, but answered anyway. "We're…getting there. Why? What's George told you?"

"Nothing," Ron sighed, leaning back in his seat. "He told me you were friends."

Angelina laughed. "I can promise you, friends don't spend all night shagging like Norwegian Ridgebacks."

Ron felt nauseous. "More than I needed to know about my brother," Ron told her before taking another drink.

"Sorry," Angelina told him indifferently, not even blushing at what she'd just confessed.

"No, I'm sorry," Ron said dejectedly. "It's good. I'm happy for George. And you."

"Well…thanks?"

"At least some people can get it right," he muttered jealously. Why was it so easy for everyone else? Harry and Ginny, George and Angelina, Bill and Fleur, even Percy and Audrey were bloody engaged. They all made it look so effortless. Why couldn't he and Hermione ever be on the same page? At least Charlie was still single. Maybe he was the one to talk to…

"Listen, Ron—"

"You dated Fred," Ron stated out of nowhere.

"Well I wouldn't call it dating—"

"And now you're with George. And it's no big deal. Why can' me an' her be like that?"

"Ron," Angelina snapped sternly and Ron focused his slippery attentions back on her. "What exactly do you think happened between me and Fred?"

It may've just been his imagination, but Ron thought he saw a bit of worry in her expression. "Nothing, really," he admitted.

"Because we were never together. Not like that, not even like George and I are now," she said adamantly, sounding like she had wanted to clear the matter up with someone for a long time and was jumping at the chance.

Ron considered her for a moment. He'd gone to school with Angelina for five years, been in the same house and even on the same Quidditch team. And had watched her help George through things the last few months, but he suddenly realized he didn't really know much about her. He'd always been too caught up in what was going on in his own life, or in Harry's and Hermione's to spend much time thinking about others.

If he hadn't been drinking Ron probably wouldn't never asked his next question. It was certainly something he'd never had the urge to think about before, but something in his misery urged him to speak. "Did you and Fred…did you ever?"

This time, Angelina actually had the modesty to look away, and took a long pull from her glass, nearly draining it. "Once," she admitted without meeting his eyes. "After the Yule Ball sixth year. It was…he was…my first."

Ron suddenly felt awful for ever bringing up. He could see her discomfort written across her face. "Sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"It's alright. That was a long time ago." She shrugged. "It was fine. We stayed friends."

Ron couldn't help but ask again. "Does George know?"

She tossed back the last of her drink. "Yes."

Ron didn't know he could feel worse than he already had. He didn't know who deserved his pity, or even if any of those involved would want it.

"It was a problem at first," Angelina continued quietly. "George knew there wasn't anything between me and Fred-at least I think he did. But when we started to hang out again a few months ago…it was obvious we were attracted to one-another. I'm sure he wondered if I was only interested because of what happened between me and Fred. Honestly I wondered the same thing. It's awkward, having that between us. But…after a few weeks I knew I wanted to be with George…that it had nothing to do with Fred. He didn't see it that way. He still doesn't. But," she shrugged, "he's a bloke. I get it."

"How do you get past that?" Ron asked, almost reverently.

"You don't. You just…learn to live with it. I have, and I have to hope George can too, eventually. I'm just trying to give him time to accept it. And make sure he's knows I'm not going anywhere."

Ron fell silent. George's situation was completely different from his own, but obviously it was far more complicated than he'd previously believed. But what did that mean for him and Hermione? Was it just a matter of time? Could he really learn to live with knowing Hermione had been with someone else? Would she even be willing to give him the time and space to get there? Judging by her actions today it didn't seem likely.

Finally, Angeline turned to look at him. "You need to understand Ron: love and sex…they don't have anything to do with one-another." When Ron looked at her confused, she continued. "I mean, of course it's great if the person you're sleeping with is also the one you're in love with. But not everyone gets that chance, and not everyone who does manages to hold onto it." She paused, looking thoughtful and far older than her age suggested. "Sex isn't about love…except when it is."

Ron didn't know what to think about that, but was spared a reply when George sauntered over to them. "Are you two birds finished with your girl talk?" he asked, waiting to see if it was finally safe to sit down.

Angelina's serious expression vanished in an instant as she smiled at him and grabbed George's hand to pull him into his seat. "Yes," she said giving his a quick peck on the lips. "But I need another drink," she said, standing. "Ron? Another?" she asked.

"Sure." Then thinking better of it, "actually…I think I'm going to take off," Ron said rising, suddenly wanting to give the fragile couple some time alone.

"What?" George asked incredulously. "But we haven't even—"

"Let him go," Angelina said, placing a hand on his arm. "You've been wanting to get me alone all night so don't complain."

"Have a good night you two," Ron offered, smiling. He could hear George's voice questioning "What did you say to him?" as he walked away from the table and out of the Leaky. With Angelina's words ringing in his ears, Ron pictured his destination and Disapparated before strolling up to the door of a place he'd never been and knocked softly.

The door opened. "Ron!" Very exclaimed, clearly surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

In answer, Ron strode forward, sweeping Verity off her feet and planting a searing kiss on her lips, kicking the door shut behind them.

_8 July, 1999_

Hermione sat stock-still on the bed as Ron dragged himself through door of his room at half-past ten the next morning. After their kiss the previous afternoon, she'd been wracked with guilt over her inability to restrain herself, over breaking her promise to herself and to Ron to just be friends, for pushing him when she knew he wasn't ready to be pushed.

She'd just been so sure the tension between them had been because they both wanted the same thing, because they both knew being _just_ _friends _would never work after everything they'd been through. They'd never just been friends, as far as she could remember; there'd always been that extra tension that had never been there with her and Harry, even when she was too young to understand what that tension meant. But judging by the way Ron had run off and disappeared for the rest of the night she'd completely misread the situation.

_And now I've driven him out of his own house_, she thought sadly, hating that Ron couldn't even stand sleeping under the same roof as her. _And yet you're going to force your presence on him again_, she scolded herself. Not that it made any difference to her heart.

"How come I always seem to find you up here?" he asked, his throat raspy, no doubt a result of the drinking he'd done the night before.

"Sorry. You would think I'd have a better sense of privacy, wouldn't you?" she offered lamely, embarrassed. She hadn't meant to intrude further in his life but she'd been anxious to see him since waking up and being in his room had offered some strange comfort while she waited. She was amazed she'd managed to get any sleep the night before, especially after George had returned without Ron in-tow.

He shrugged, but smiled a little, hopefully to let her know he wasn't angry. Unfortunately it did nothing to comfort her inner turmoil or answer any of the million questions racing through her mind.

"Should've know the space beneath my pillow wasn't the best hiding place," he said, gesturing toward the object clutched in her hands.

She looked down at the Marauder's Map. She hadn't meant to snoop, but she'd caught sight of it peeking out from beneath Ron's pillow. "This could have been really helpful during rounds," she said holding up the map, at a loss for anything else.

"I don't think Harry's dad and Sirius would've approved of that thing being used to catch students up to no good. Or Fred and George either for that matter."

"Probably not," she said, allowing herself to smile back at him. "Still I'm surprised it's here. Not like Harry will have much use for it now. I mean I know it reminds him of his dad and Sirius and Lupin, but I thought he might've given it to Ginny or something."

Ron smirked. "You really think Harry would give Ginny that map? He'd probably worry she'd use it to sneak around with some git behind his back." She shot him a skeptical look. "What? This is Ginny we're talking about. We all know she has trouble staying single."

"She wasn't single! They were together the whole year."

"Yeah but they spent almost the whole time apart."

"So? That doesn't mean they weren't together," Hermione argued vehemently, realizing neither of them were really talking about their two friends. "Plus they'd already been apart the whole time the three of us were on the run. And they were technically broken up then and she still didn't go out and find someone else."

"That was different. She and everyone else at Hogwarts were too busy getting tortured by Death Eater teachers to have time to snog."

"Honestly Ron. Is that what you really think of Ginny? I'm sure she'll be happy to know you think she's the kind of girl that runs off to find a boy to kiss just to fill the time."

For a moment Ron looked like he was tempted to remind Hermione that's exactly what she had done last summer, but held back. Still, the moment of fun banter was over. "No, I know Ginny and Harry are stronger than that," he said instead, and she recognized the implication in his words: _They're stronger than that, but we aren't._

_We weren't_, she corrected herself. She didn't say anything, so Ron took another turn to speak. "I think he plans to give it to Teddy when he's older," Ron said touching the map with a finger, and Hermione almost jumped having not noticed when he'd crossed the room to stand next to her.

"What's it doing here then?" she asked, voicing one of the questions that had been burning in her thoughts since coming up to his room. "He hasn't slept in this room since Bill and Fleur left."

Ron sat down next to her, his eyes glued to the yellowed scrap of parchment in her hands. "Did you know he used to watch Ginny on it? When we were hunting Horcruxes. He-he told me that after I left, he'd take it out at night when you two weren't talking and check on her, make sure she was safe. Said it was the only thing that helped him fight the locket at times, knowing she was okay. He even told me he kept waiting to see my name appear on the map. Said he'd kind of hoped I'd show up there even, so he'd know I was there to look after her."

A single drop appear on the map and she realized she was crying. She was always crying around Ron these days. It was like his presence turned on a faucet she couldn't shut off without his help. He looked at her as she struggled to fight back the tears, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm sure he wanted to see that you were all right too. I know he was worried about you too."

Ron shrugged, and tried to laugh though it came out a bit strangled. "Yeah probably. I mean he and I don't really talk about that kind of thing, but I know. That's Harry."

"I know I was," she said as if she hadn't been listening to him even though she'd heard every word. "I actually caught him looking at it a few times and would sort of…_borrow _it, after he would go to sleep," she confessed.

He was right there, his shoulder touching hers. It would be nothing for him to wrap his arm around her for comfort like he once had. But she knew such a small gesture was beyond him now as he stood and made to leave. "I wanted to know you were safe. That you were alright…when you'd left us."

"It worked out, alright," Ron offered sullenly.

"Ron."

He paused a moment at her voice. "You should hang on to that," he told her. "Give it back to Harry when you two move out. I don't really need it anymore either." And without looking back, he left the room.

She looked back down at the map, wondering what Ron had really been doing with it. He'd never actually said. She wanted to hope he'd been watching her, the same way she'd tried watching for him when he left the tent. But even if he had, what did it matter? He had walked away from her yesterday, and had done the same again just now without answering any of her unspoken questions.

The rest of the day passed excruciatingly slowly. With Percy, George, Harry and Arthur at work, that only left the girls and Ron at the house. Hermione did her best to give Ron the space he probably needed, but couldn't stop herself from checking up on him constantly to make sure he was alright. Not that it was any assurance. She couldn't just _ask_ him after all. He wasn't alright. That was obvious. And she was sure her constant hovering wasn't helping matters but she couldn't help it.

She also had to avoid Ginny who shot her looks of pity every time their eyes met. Ginny meanwhile was avoiding her mum's attempts to rope her into cooking lessons, telling her she'd "Never get Harry to settle down if he knows you can't cook a proper meal," which Ginny didn't seem to appreciate very much. And Ron seemed to be avoiding all of them, clearly looking to avoid any questions about where he'd spent the previous evening.

So it was quite a relief when the men came home and Harry and Ron went off for a fly before dinner. She could finally relax knowing he was with Harry, believing Harry wouldn't let him just up and leave again. And in all the hustle and bustle she managed to slip off to Ginny's room and find the peace to finally think.

More than half a day had passed between the time George said Ron had left them at the Leaky Cauldron and his return to the Burrow and one question stood out among all the rest running through her thoughts. Exactly where had Ron spent the night? Surely he hadn't stayed at a pub all night or wandered aimlessly around London. He would've had to go somewhere eventually. He didn't seem particularly exhausted so he must've found a place to kip for the night. But where?

She supposed he could've gone to Grimmauld place, though remembering it'd been left untouched after the Death Eaters ransacked it a year and a half ago, Hermione thought he might've been more comfortable sleeping in a gutter.

Of course, there was the possibility that he'd stayed with a friend. But the list of candidates was rather short and she didn't really want to contemplate who might top such a list of friends with a couch to spare…or maybe just half her blankets…

"Hey," Harry said, standing in her doorway.

"Harry!" Hermione said startled, yet thankful for the interruption. "How was your fly?'

"Wet," Harry joked and indeed she noticed he was dripping on the floor. She hopped off the bed and waved her wand to dry him of. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem. Though a fully-qualified Auror really ought to know a simple drying charm," she told him smiling.

"Guess a part of me still expects you to do all the heavy lifting," he told her before moving to the bed and patting the seat beside him. With some trepidation, Hermione complied.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

"I-I don't—"

"Is Ron okay?" she asked after Harry hesitated. "Did you find out where he went last night?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate for information.

Harry nodded, a pained look on his face. Seeing it, Hermione didn't exactly feel like she wanted the answers to any more questions. Trying to ignore her own feelings, she instead focused on what Harry must be feeling: coming here to deliver what could only be bad news, unsure if he was helping or hurting her, maybe even feeling guilty if he was betraying Ron by doing so. It was ridiculous, almost like being back in sixth year and she hated putting Harry in the position of go-between, despising herself for her inability to just let things go.

"Does Ron know you're up here?"

He shrugged. "Probably. He's not exactly stupid and I'm not particularly subtle am I?"

Hermione laughed before quickly sobering. "Is it—"

Harry shook his head. "Verity's."

Strangely, after all her tears, all her regrets and sleepless nights and forsaken dreams, she couldn't really feel anything when Harry' confirmed the possibility she'd dreaded most.

Of course Harry tried to lessen the sting of the blow he'd just delivered. "Look, I don't know if anything actually—"

"It's fine, Harry," she told him, taking his hand and squeezing it for a moment. "Really." And strangely enough, she believed it. It was finally over. She didn't need Harry to confirm it, to try and keep her hope alive; Ron had made his choice and she just had to accept it. "Come on, I'm sure Molly's waiting for us to come down to dinner."

Indeed she was. The meal was a somber one: a stark contrast to the rambunctious party from just a few nights ago. They ate in silence, or as close as the Burrow ever got to silence. All through dinner she could feel Harry's nervous eyes on her, waiting for her to break down. As for Ron, she couldn't bring herself to look at him, to catch his eye and see the truth, or perhaps pity for poor, heartbroken Hermione. He was just…there, like he'd always been, like she knew he always would be wherever she went or however far away he was.

She couldn't seem to get comfortable throughout dinner. She constantly fidgeted, shifting uncomfortably and feeling as though everyone was looking at her, perhaps waiting for her to break down…again. But Hermione was done with that. She needed to be strong, if there was any hope of keeping Ron in her life…as a friend.

Needing something to preoccupy herself with, she offered to help Molly clean up after everyone was finished, but of course the older woman made a fuss about how Hermione was a guest and there was no need to bother with the dishes when she was leaving in just a few more days. Feeling dejected, she left the kitchen wishing she'd been more adamant, trying to think of something else to take her mind off the idea of Ron and Verity. Even reading _Hogwarts: a History _for the hundredth time was doubtful to distract her.

Nevertheless, her thoughts were so preoccupied with thinking of possible preoccupations that she didn't hear someone coming around the corner and bumped directly into Georege, the top of her head smacking him in the chin. They both stumbled back a step, George reaching out and grabbing her shoulders to steady them both. "Alright there Hermione?" he asked, wincing slightly and rubbing his chin after he released her.

"Sorry," Hermione said, suddenly regretting cutting her hair. At least if it was long she could use it to hide the large bump that was forming as a result of their collision. "I wasn't paying attention."

His gaze flicked to her hair and grinned. "Now that's gonna take some getting used to."

"I don't have time for this George," Hermione said exasperatedly as she tried to push past him.

"Whoa there," he said, grabbing her arm to stop her. "No need to rush off. I was only joking. It looks good on you, honest."

"I'm thrilled you think so," she told him dryly. "Now if you'll—"

"Everything alright?" he asked her, using a very different tone that caught her off-guard.

"Of-of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Oh I don't know what clued me in. Maybe it was the seven feet of hair you chopped off yesterday, or the fact that my little brother dragged me to a pub only to up and leave and disappear to Merlin-knows-where. Oh, and I had to watch him stealing looks at you all through dinner. Not like I wasn't already having trouble keeping down Mum's squash casserole."

Hermione's heartbeat quickened. She'd thought Ron's eyes had been among those casting quick glances at her throughout dinner, but she'd convinced herself it was just her imagination, merely wishful thinking. After all, there wasn't any need to hide it if he _was _looking at her. He had to know she had no problem with doing a lot more than just looking, after her behavior yesterday. "No, he hasn't." She was finished getting her hopes up, not now, not after she'd finally accepted reality for what it was.

"Too bad your parents are dentists. Seems like you'd have been better off with pair of onklogists as your eyes clearly aren't working properly."

"Optometrist."

"Bless you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Muggle eye healers are called optometrists. Oncologists deal with cancer."

"What's that?" George asked.

"It's when unregulated cell growth-oh never mind it's not important. What's important is that my eyes are just fine and Ron has NOT been looking at me all day."

"Keep telling yourself that Granger. And I never said he was looking at you all day. Just dinner," he cheeked

"Fine," she huffed. "Suppose that Ron WAS staring at me at dinner Then explain to me why he couldn't even bear to SLEEP in the same house as me? Or why he's on edge every time we're in the same room."

George gaped at her for a moment, looking very much like a fish as his mouth opened and shut silently. "No, idea. I'm not a Legilimens, and even if I _was_ I'm not sure I'd be capable of understanding how ickle Ronnie's mind works." He grinned but Hermione's lip didn't budge. "Look I just call 'em like I see 'em, and what I see is Ron mooning over you like a lovesick puppy."

"So that's why he went and stayed at his girlfriend's flat last night?"

George blinked. "Ron has a girlfriend?"

"Verity," Hermione bit out, hating George for playing dumb and making her say it out loud.

"Is that where he went?" Hermione nodded. "And he told you that?"

"Basically. He told Harry, and Harry more or less told me as Ron must've known he would. It wasn't exactly difficult to figure out."

George shrugged. "Well that doesn't mean anything. Maybe he just got lonely."

"Is 'lonely' a euphemism for randy? Because if I recall correctly, he currently lives in a house with seven other people, so I don't know how it's possible for him to feel _lonely_."

"Okay well _maybe_ he did want to get a leg over," George said, grinning. "What's it to you? Way I hear it, you two are just friends."

"We are," Hermione said, sounding about as confident as she felt. "But it doesn't mean I want to have to hear about his _bedroom activities_."

"Well I can promise that you'd be the last person Ron would run-off to chat about how he finally lost his cherry. And don't worry; you won't hear a peep from me after I've bullied all the gory details out of him."

Hermione moaned. "Like that makes it any better. And I'm fairly confident that it's impossible for you to keep your mouth shut about anything."

"Well what's the good of someone telling you a secret if you don't get to go and tell someone else?" George said cheekily, but Hermione still didn't smile. The longer she talked to George, the more she was convinced that Ron had done with Verity exactly what she wished he hadn't. George certainly seemed to have accept that possibility as the most likely scenario quickly enough.

"George, I'm really not in the mood to discuss this with you, or anyone else for that matter. In fact I'd very much like to be alone."

Noting her obvious distress, George dropped his playful attitude. "Look, if you're looking for some peace and quiet, I can give you a place to stay. I've been fixing up the flat above the shop, getting it livable again since apparently my siblings and the great Potter didn't see the need to trouble themselves over it when they set to work on the rest of the place. Merlin knows you won't get a minute alone in this circus."

"You're moving out?" she asked.

"Been thinking about it," he said thoughtfully. "I mean I'm twenty-one. It's a bit embarrassing to have your mum still wash your knickers at that age. Anyway, you could stay there, if you like…until you and the boy wonder are all set to move into your new place."

Hermione didn't want to leave the Burrow. It was the last place that still felt like home; Hogwarts had lost that magic for her this past year, and her parents' house in Australia was their home, not hers. But if her presence made Ron so uncomfortable that he needed to leave to get a decent night's sleep, it wasn't fair to stay. She wanted—needed—their new friendship to work, needed him in her life any way she could have him. And she wasn't going to risk losing him again by forcing him to deal with having her around constantly.

Not to mention the fact that if she stayed and had to hear Ron slip back in the house every morning after spending the night with Verity, she might very lose what little was left of her sanity. "Yes. Yes, I'd like that. Thank you George."

George waved her off. "What else is family good for?"

Hermione smiled to hear him say such a thing. She loved Ron's family as if they were her own, but it was the first time one of his siblings indicated that they saw her the same way. "If there's ever anything I can do to repay you…"

"Well," George said, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "I think there are still a few cobwebs to get rid of, and maybe some rats that would make a nice supper for that crazy cat of yours…."

…

Hermione sat in front of the mirror in George's old room in her bathrobe, brushing her hair as Crookshanks sat purring on her lap. Not that there was much to work with anymore, but it was a habit going back to her fourth year, and one that helped her to relax before bed. _I have to admit, there are a lot of advantages to having short hair,_ Hermione thought, _one being it doesn't take two hours to dry. _"And it's probably short enough that I wouldn't need an entire bottle of Sleakeazy's to straighten it if I wanted," she told Crookshanks who only nuzzled deeper into her lap in response.

After accepting George's offer, she'd gathered her things and left the Burrow as quickly and discreetly as possible. She felt slightly guilty about not explaining things to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley after all the kindness they'd shown her by opening their home to her, but that prospect was far too embarrassing to contemplate. After George had let her into the flat, he'd promised he'd make some excuse for her back at the Burrow so everyone didn't panic at her disappearance without telling anyone exactly where she was staying for which she was very grateful. She planned to go down to the post office and owl Harry first thing in the morning to tell him where she was and that she'd wait for him to tell her when their flat was ready for them to move in. She didn't want to impose on George's generosity any longer than she had to.

Finished, she picked up Crookshanks and sat him on the bed as she dressed, pulling on her knickers and a bright red shirt adorned with a golden '2' on in. Hermione Granger might not've approved of stealing library books, but she held no such reservations when it came to Quidditch uniforms…at least not ones that had once belonged to Ron Weasley.

After speaking to Ron the day of the Quidditch final and her interview, she'd gone for walk, her thoughts for one unfettered with her usual worries. She'd been so happy at the time, confident that she and Ron were on the right track after being at odds for so long, and her stroll had taken her around the Quidditch locker rooms. At the time, she'd been overcome with an uncommon impulsiveness and after a silent _Alohomora _she'd slipped through the unlocked door. She'd only been inside the locker rooms once before, after that first match against Slytherin back in sixth year, after Ron had played a flawless match and she'd tactlessly credited his performance to Harry's bottle of Felix Felicis. It had been an unmitigated disaster judging by what had happened soon afterward.

But as she looked around the Gryffindor lockers, the practice jerseys and extra Quaffles and Beater's bats and school brooms, those bad memories had melted away. She'd felt like she was getting a peak into Ron's and Harry's and even Ginny's worlds, the parts that she usually was shut out from and would probably never fully understand. She'd read the names taped to the lockers of former students that had already graduated. There were the twins, Oliver, Harry's dad and even McGonagall's name tucked into a corner unassumingly. It was a funny image, imaging her former Transfiguration professor and current Headmistress dressed in Quidditch robes and darting about the pitch, but it certainly explained her passion to see Gryffindor win the cup each year.

But more interesting to her than even McGonagall's old locker was Ron's old practice jersey. It'd been a surprise to see it there, but she'd realized that none of the current Gryffindors even came close to Ron in height so of course it hadn't been passed down yet. And in a moment of uncharacteristic daring, she'd taken it, telling herself that no-one would miss it.

Hermione hadn't risked wearing it at Hogwarts or while she was staying at the Burrow, but she'd slept in it every night while in Australia and there was nothing to stop her from doing the same in the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Of course, Ron's old Weasley jumper would've offered her the same comfort but it was far too warm. And though she knew Hogwart's house-elves had scrubbed every last trace of Ron from the tattered old jersey, she still inhaled deeply as pulled it over her head, willing herself into believing she could still smell him on it.

"It will have to do Crookshanks," she sighed, pulling back the covers and casting one last _Scourgify _on George's bed as a precaution before climbing in. She waved her wand to turn out the lights and set it on the bedside table, next to the vase that had followed her everywhere for the last year, holding the rose Ron had given her the day she first left for Australia.

It was strange: although its color had quickly faded after she left the Burrow, the rose has slowly brightened over time from white to blue to orange and yellow. Yet now, it stood limply, drooping and wilted, black as the dark walls of the room. For months it had been a symbol of her faith, her hope that things might still be fixed, but now was as bereft of Ron as the shirt she wore, holding nothing but distant, taunting memories of what had been hers and how she'd let it slip away.

At last, Hermione closed her eyes and let the tears that had been threatening to escape all day fall down her cheeks. She buried her face in the pillow, sobbing louder and louder, willing the last of her feelings out with each drop of moisture. "The last time," she cried, her shape wracked with tremors as her hands beat ferociously against the mattress. "This is…the last…time I'll cry…for you." It was a promise she knew she had to keep.

Eventually her arms tired, her eyes and nose red and raw, and she grew quiet against her soaked pillow as the last of her anguish left her. But as sleep threatened to overtake Hermione, she heard what might've been footsteps creaking along the floor.

"Crookshanks?" she sounded, her words muffled by the pillow. Immediately her furry companion leapt onto her back, making her jump. _Well that answers one question_, she thought, turning over and removing his claws from her back. _Maybe I just imagined_—But her thoughts were interrupted by a thud, followed by a sharp yelp from somewhere in the flat. Through the door she could hear muttering.

Her mind now fully awake, she quickly grabbed her wand and jumped out of bed, sliding her feet into a pair of slippers and moving quietly toward the door. It was probably just George, coming by to check and make sure she was alright, or perhaps Harry, so worried about her that he'd forced the truth out of George despite his vow of secrecy, but the war and Moody's mantra of 'constant vigilance' reminder her it was better to be safe than sorry. And as she reached the door, she jerked it open in one swift motion and brought her wand up, preparing to cast a Shield Charm followed by a Stunning Spell. But all thought of combat vanished from her mind and the incantations died before leaving her lips as her eyes landed on her intruder.

He hadn't heard her, any sound she'd made clearly muffled by his continued grumblings. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, seeming to have stumbled or tripped as his hand rubbed his sore bum as he moved to stand, still oblivious to the voyeur watching him.

"Ron," Hermione whispered, her voice hoarse from her earlier shouting, unaware that she'd made a sound. Everything else seemed to fade out as she watched him. Reacting to the sound, Ron's hand dove into his pocket, pulling out a flash of silver. The speed of his movement startled her and her wand slipped from her fingers to fall to the floor.

This time, he turned toward the sound and saw her. His eyes widened, seemingly as surprised to find her there as she was, or perhaps it was merely the state of her appearance: garbed in stolen Quidditch regalia, her hair matted with sweat, puffy eyes and tear tracks marring her face. Whatever the reason, his eyes seemed to brighten, the light that had faded from them after the attack on St. Mungo's returning in an instant, only multiplied tenfold so that Hermione felt blinded as they stared into hers.

"Her-Hermione?" Ron muttered softly, the flash of silver falling from his hand and joining her wand on the floor. And that was it: for the first time in over a year she'd heard Ron speak her name. And as if summoned by some ancient magic, Hermione was at his side faster than even Apparition would've suggested was possible. His hands reached out for her, tentatively trying to decide if she was actually real and not some lingering phantom of his fall moments earlier, and without thinking Hermione answered him by crushing her lips against his. Ron might've no longer belonged to her, but for one night, for just one last moment she wanted to be claimed as _his_, to make sure he knew that always and forever would he have her heart. It belonged to him, with him, in him and she didn't want it back.

Without regret, she pulled back from their last kiss. But what she could never have predicted were his arms drawing her back against his chest and lifting her off the floor as Ron returned that last kiss over and over and over…

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** This chapter's title comes from the song "Love Calls You by Your Name" by Leonard Cohen off his album _Songs of Love and Hate_.

Okay, so that was a lot of ground to cover and I hope you guys aren't feeling overwhelmed. I probably could've saved some of it for Chapter 30, but this was really the only point where it made sense to break things up.

A few comments about minor details from this chapter. Yes, Hermione cut her hair. No, this is not 'Makeover Hermione' or 'she looks like Emma Watson when she cut her hair short.' I'm well aware that canon!Hermione does not look like the actress that portrayed her in the movies. But like Emma, Hermione felt a need to make a physical change to signify her entering a new stage of her life and leaving the old one behind. It's not drop dead sexy or anything as Ron is not a licensed stylist or anything. Her hair is still frizzy, just a bit more easily managed as there's a lot _less _of it. And it won't stay that way forever. Just to me, it's unlikely that Hermione would go her entire life without trying a different look for a bit.

Secondly, the rose: it was a motif I decided to include in this fic in the very early stages of mapping it out. I'm not really crazy about it anymore and I like the idea of it a lot more than the actual execution, but the purpose was that the color Ron's rose changed was supposed to signify where their relationship stands at that point in the story. If you're really interested, google 'meaning of rose colors' to understand the changes at different key points in the story.

And what about Neville/Luna? I know it was somewhat poorly executed but I basically wanted to make people think they were together when they weren't to prove how easy it is to get a false impression of relationship *coughHarry/Hermionecough* when you assume you know all the facts and I thought it was a bit ironic that the trio made those same assumptions after spending years having to deny allegations that H&Hr were a couple. You guys should know by now that I go by what Jo says and she says no romance between Neville and Luna. As for Luna/Dean…that'll be covered in the sequel.

And finally, yes this is really the first non-'flashback' chapter (after he gets back from Australia) in the story where Ron actually says Hermione's name in dialogue. Did anyone pick up on this? That he never actually says it and the only time we see it is in his thoughts or when Harry or another character mentions it? I hope someone picked up on it because it took painstaking effort in some scenes to write believable dialogue without Ron using her name (actually I messed up in chapter 9 and had Ron say her name once which probably ruined the whole effect. But it's been edited out now :/). I wanted it to be kind of a big moment in the story and act symbolically to bring them back together the way the Deluminator brought Ron back to Hermione in _Deathly Hallows _when Ron heard her say his name.

Still to come in chapter 30: what exactly went down at Verity's flat after Ron kissed her, why he was at the flat above WWW's in the closing scene here, what happens next, and a few closing scenes to wrap a few things up and get us ready for the sequel. I won't commit to a specific day chapter 30 will be posted, but I swear on Dobby's grave that it'll be out before the end of the month.


	31. CH30: There Is a Light That Never Goes O

**A/N: **Thanks you's are owed to **HilaryWeasley, amr1991, Michael Ho, 123r, Dreamy Mary, placebo13, Leonardo00, HalfASlug, writemealetter, newyearzgirl18, heronlove, selene86, ozzel1, Sandrinha, LunaZola, hiddenkae, JustinKeys, RonMioneOnly, faultybooster, Anne Mary Ellen, ObsessedRHShipper, Weak4Weasley, highkicks, DeLoreanDMC-12, nirdoodle, marais, cosmos123, RyanRow02, youcandoit, cleansweep21, hptk, JustYourVoice, Mlgregg5, snowbear96, JustAnotherGuy100, Below the Din, cookiecutter54, jessortiz3, GingerPygmy99, milan4ever, EmD23, DeepDownUnder, Athenais777, nellysh, vlaovic, Beasley, Lilyofthevale, Memorandum, heathyrann, helly318, Lancelot, iyamei, master999, jennimiley, tpanderson, QueanAli, Belle, potterhp, WinterFloe, hjpotter020, FanficCriticNo.1, jamiewalsh, riverine, chavi garg, Shypman, HP-nerd-gina, chavi, smilelino, mellypotter1223, oscarpaz00, Liebert, Weak4Weasley, Seriously, Nostradamus, Sarden, ShePotter, pam1990, Gag Hafrunt, , StephMcG, peacock33, 79AvadaWEasleyKedavra, Cupid's Heart of Gold, MotherNight, Jui, SimpleHeiress, Knights **and all the people who left reviews under Guest. Thank you all, and thank you to everyone who has left reviews in the past or has never left a review but stuck with this story anyway. I'd like to think I would've finished this fic no matter what, but a part of me knows it probably wouldn't be here without you guys. I'd like to single out a few people in particular for their help, support and friendship since I came here, but I'm sure I'd forget someone so I'll just say that you know who you are :) Thank you.

I'm going to be a bit sentimental here for a minute as I think writing the 9th longest Ron/Hermione fanfic currently in existence has earned me that much [begins patting myself on the back]. When I first set out to write this story, I had a couple different motives, some of which I've talked about in author's notes or responses to reviews that I won't repeat again here. But I will mention one.

I'd never read or even been tempted to seek out Harry Potter fanfiction before I walked out of the movie theater at the end of the last film. But something inside of me was desperate not to let that be the end. So I turned to fanfiction and fell in love, so deeply in fact than within a few weeks' time I was writing an outline for a story of my own that would eventually become _Closer _and a few months later I was posting my first chapter. Never could I properly express adequate gratitude to JKR for writing a series that has remained such a huge part of my life even into adulthood. But I feel I owe an equal debt to the fandom, fans and fanfic writers both, for taking my love for Jo's series and my two favorite characters to an entirely new level. So part of me feels like this story is my way of giving something back, a way to say 'thank you' for hours of enjoyment you've all given me. I hope all of us continue do our part to keep Harry Potter (and Ron and Hermione in particular) alive and well for years to come.

Now, without further ado I present the conclusion of 'Closer.' Hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 30: There Is a Light That Never Goes Out<strong>

_7, July, 1999_

Ron swept them into the room, kicking the door shut behind him, kissing her deeper and harder than he'd ever kissed anyone before. For a few moments, her lips moved against his, her hands holding his waist while his scrabbled at the hem of her shirt, desperate to reveal what he'd been denying himself for months. But as he tried to lift it over her head, her arms reached out to still his.

"Ron!" whispered Verity, looking thoroughly flushed and sounding quite out of breath. "What's—"

He didn't let her finish the question, shutting her up with another kiss she again broke, much more swiftly than the first, and Ron felt his frustration rising.

She planted her hands against his chest to hold him at bay to get her words out this time. "Okay. You going to tell me what's this about?"

"No," Ron said determinedly. Talking was the last thing on his mind at the moment. Talking was all he'd been doing for ages now. That and listening, listening to everyone's stupid advice from Dumbledore to Angelina and he was tired of it, so fucking tired. He wanted to act. So why wasn't she letting him?

Verity was looking at him with an expression torn between bemusement and concern. _Well at least she's not angry_, he thought with some relief. The last thing he needed right now was a flat rejection, he thought, not recognizing the irony of his statement.

"You're not going to tell me why you showed up here half past ten? Or why you reek of Firewhiskey?" she questioned in a very familiar tone.

"Don't feel like it," Ron mumbled, rolling back on his heels so her hand fell from his chest. She immediately crossed her arms.

"Okay. Will you at least tell me what you're doing here?"

"Think that's a bit obvious, yeah?" Ron muttered, quite pleased to see Verity blush at his words. There was something immensely satisfying in unsettling such a usually confident witch.

"So you just want a leg over?" she questioned once she'd recovered.

"What? No! I mean not…I wasn't…"

His stutter seemed to finally help her relax. "I know. Sorry. I know you're not…it's just…it's been months," she said honestly. "Not since the attack. I just sort of took that as a sign you weren't…"

"I am!" Ron stated adamantly. "I'm interested!"

Her eyes darted down before snapping back to his face. "Well, one part of you is anyway."

Normally this comment would've completely thrown him, but he brushed passed it, refusing to get sidetracked. "Look, can we not do this now? I just want—" He moved in for another kiss but her hand intercepted his lips.

"In a hurry Weasley?"

"Why waste anymore time?" he replied cockily, grasping her wrist and pulling it back to his hip, and taking another step closer to her.

"Then answer me this." He could feel the heat of her breath on his chin, smell the faint whiff of her perfume, feel her heart beating rapidly against his own. "Why did you waste so much time?"

She stared up into his eyes and Ron was the first to look away. "I just…had to sort some things out."

"And did you? Sort them I mean?"

"Would I be hear if I hadn't?"

She looked at him, considering. "That's the question, isn't it? I mean you know how I…how you…you know…" she trailed off. Ron waited as she reached to cup his face, pulled herself up and kissed him, the kiss as full of tender curiosity as his had been full of desperation. For a moment, they both sank into the kiss, what was essentially their first _real_ kiss Ron realized. His hand found her back, pulling her even closer as his other crept into her hair, which he remotely acknowledged was roughly the same length as Hermione's now, and groaned against her lips. But Verity seemed to take this as encouragement, melting into him, her hands slipping beneath his shirt, her nails skirting across his back. He groaned again, this time with longing as her lips moved away from his.

His cheek settled on the top of her head as she pressed her forehead to his chest and sighed. "Look. Just…before we do this…can you tell me if I'm about to get hurt?"

Ron cringed at her words and wished she could just shut up and snog him. Why could women never shut up for five minutes, he wondered in frustration.

"I thought you said it…this…didn't have to mean anything?"

"It doesn't. But we're friends, right?" Ron nuzzled against her in confirmation before she continued. "Just tell me this isn't about Hermione."

Ron practically shot away from her, breaking their embrace violently and she looked at him with a hurt he had only thought he was capable of inflicting on one person. And he knew he'd already given her the answer she was looking for. But the question remained: what did that mean to her?

Shockingly, she laughed. "You know, I thought you were a decent sort of bloke."

"What?" he exclaimed in indignation. "I am!"

"Thought you knew how to treat a witch."

"I do!" he insisted.

"But it turns out you're just an arse."

"No I'm not!"

She laughed again. "Yeah right. Here you are, two birds with one stone."

"What? What's that—"

"You love Hermione," she stated simply.

"Yeah so—" he stopped, catching his words too late. "I mean—"

She laughed one last time, this one a bit more good-naturedly than before. "Honestly. It's written all over your face. Did you tell her?"

"No I—"

"Did you kiss her?"

Ron's mind went back to the reason he'd been driven from the Burrow hours earlier, to that moment in Ginny's room, when Hermione had asked him to stop thinking, her lips against him to just feel, to taste, to love…

"Other way around," Ron sighed in defeat, his weariness—or perhaps just the Firewhiskey—catching up to him as he slumped onto her settee.

Verity sat down beside him. "Bloody hell, boss. You're not supposed to go around trying to shag one girl while you're in love with another."

For a moment thought about asking Verity to tell that to Hermione, but managed to restrain himself. "Not your boss anymore. Remember George fired me?"

"I'm sure you're real broken up about it." She smiled at him, but Ron was not in the mood to laugh. "Look, you know I'd be up for a nice shag," Ron twitched at her brazenness, his earlier confidence now gone, "but not when you're still hung up on someone else."

"You knew that when you first kissed me," Ron countered.

"Yeah, but at least then I thought you at least _wanted _to be over her. But you don't, do you?"

Ron thought about that question, thought about how he'd felt trapped: trapped by Dumbledore's speech about eternal love, trapped by Harry's eagerness for him and Hermione to reconcile, trapped by Angelina's gentle insistence that even the most seemingly insurmountable issues were worth dealing with for love. It wasn't fair. Hermione didn't deserve his love, didn't deserve Ron _wanting _to love her.

"That's what I thought. So if she kissed you, what's the problem?"

"The problem is that she shagged someone else! While _we _were together!" Ron had risen from his seat and was glaring down at Verity in anger. For her part, the shop assistant looked shocked, apparently having not contemplated _that _was the issue.

"Oh," she offered lamely.

"Yeah. Oh," Ron agreed, sinking back down.

"Look," Verity tried, resting a consoling hand on his shoulder. "I'm not…I wouldn't ask you to forget. And I won't claim I know how to deal with something like that. But there's only one question that matters," Verity told him.

"And what's that?" Ron asked derisively.

"Are you sorry? Are you sorry you fell in love with her in the first place? Would you go back and stop yourself knowing what you knew now?"

Ron felt like laughing but every drop of humor had been squeezed from his bones for the time being. It was a terrible question. He doubted anything could've stopped him from falling in love with Hermione. Dumbledore had practically told him as much; it was his destiny to love Hermione Granger, always and forever.

But was he sorry about that?

He remembered the bossy little witch that had seemed to be mostly made of hair bursting into his and Harry's compartment on the Hogwarts Express and told him to wipe the dirt from his nose; remembered sending her crying to the loo only to come to her rescue hours later; remembered the inexplicable torment he'd experienced watching her dance with Krum; remembered that first time she'd kissed him on the cheek before his first match; remembered her stumbling invitation to the Christmas party only to find her weeks later crying her eyes out over him as he stood with his arm around Lavender's waist; remembered the look on her face as he left the tent that night and her lips against his as the world around them seemed to be ending. He remembered all this and a thousand moments besides.

No, he wasn't sorry, not for any of it.

"What do I do?" he croaked, not daring to wipe his eyes only to find them dampened with tears. "I can't…every time I look her at I can' forget it. Him. Them."

"Look. I'm sure it hurts. Ron, look at me." He turned. "I'm sure it hurts, but you can erase it. Maybe not completely, but you can, given time. _Together_. It's rare two people get to be each other's 'one and only.' But look at you. You reek of her. Not literally," she corrected as Ron lifted his arm to smell himself. "I mean it's bloody obvious you want to forgive her. You want her. You love her, truly, and that's not that all that common either."

"But we could've. We were supposed to. But she bolloxed it. Or I did. We both…"

"Wait. Are you…are you telling me…you're a virgin?"

Ron was struck by how inappropriate and unnecessary a question that seemed at the moment. "Yeah. Laugh it up. Probably the last one in bloody England," Ron said bitterly, "Even my baby sister will probably be shagging my best mate any day now," _if she hasn't already _he added in his head, thinking back to his talk with Hermione, Ginny and Harry in St. Mungo's after the attack. For a moment, he thought he'd caught a guilty look shared between his best mate and sister, and he shivered before quickly surpassing that memory. Some things were better not considered.

"Who's laughing? I'm just…surprised," Verity said. Suddenly she seemed to come to a realization. "Is that what this is about? You didn't have her first so you don't want her to be your first either?"

His silence was all the answer she needed. Her previously consoling hand suddenly swung back to sock him on the shoulder. "Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?"

"You're not supposed to be a bleeding idiot Ron. That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"I didn't actually say anything," Ron reminded her, rubbing his shoulder but she ignored him.

"Real nice. Didn't mind using me just to hurt her bit more? Just wanted to get even is it?"

"Didn't think you'd mind so much."

They both looked at each other before cracking twin smiles at his poor joke.

"I ought to shag you to within an inch of your life just to teach you a lesson," she said, laughing weakly, though her eyes were staring daggers.

"Don't think I'd learn too much," Ron ribbed back.

"Trust me; you'd learn plenty. But I think you'd have a better time learning that lesson with someone else, yeah? Perhaps a witch who's probably dying for you to forgive her and is probably the only person as thick-headed as you are?"

There was nothing for Ron to do but rise, believing her words to be a dismissal.

"Look. Why don't you sleep here for the night," Verity told him, grabbing his arm as he turned to leave. He quirked an eyebrow at her curiously. "Not for _that_. I just…friends don't let friends Apparate pissed. It'd be just my luck you'd splinch your bits off and I don't think that'd fit into your plans. Plus I'd feel guilty denying you your last chance at a good shag."

Ron accepted gratefully, helping her make up the couch. He felt like he'd been running about for hours and only just started getting his head on straight. A good night's sleep away from the Burrow was exactly what he needed.

As he settled in, he looked up to see Verity standing in the doorway leading to the hall, looking very pensive. "Thanks," he called out to her.

She looked up, a somewhat strained smile on her face. "Never had a bloke thank me for _not _shagging him before. But there's a first time for everything, yeah?"

Ron smiled back grimly. "Not just that. I mean not just for tonight. For, uh, saying she was my fiancée. At Mungo's. I…she needed that I think."

Some of the tension left her face as she spoke. "Like I said. That's what friends do; they watch each other's backs. But I expect you to return the favor someday, alright? Any more Weasley men I haven't met?"

Ron pretended to consider this, thought a part of him wondered if she was serious. "Well there's always Charlie…But I dunno how you feel about dragons."

_8 July, 1999_

Coming back home had been a mistake. Being around everyone set him on edge, gave him no room to breath or thin through what he was going to do like there'd been at Verity's. Not that he really needed to think. He'd always known what he wanted to do, what he'd wanted even as she'd lied to him, when she'd given him excuses, or tried to shed her blame, even when he'd seen her kissing the sodding git or when she'd revealed the full truth more terrible than he'd even imagined.

No, Ron knew what he wanted; the issue was how to approach the issue. Was he prepared to let the matter go finally? Was he ready to truly forgive her so they could move past it? Sure, he'd told Harry he'd forgiven her, even half-convinced himself, but the truth was as long as he remembered what she'd done every time they kissed, held her indiscretion against her every time she tried to be around him they'd never survive. Not like that, not when the weight of it all hung in their every exchange. And he didn't think either of them could survive another failed attempt. They couldn't afford any more mistakes, and unfortunately, their track record wasn't exactly as stellar as Hermione's OWL results.

Unfortunately, his family didn't make figuring it out any easier. He'd warned Ginny flat out to stop pestering him or else he'd Banish her new broom and told her no punishment their Mum could throw at him would be enough to get him to Conjure it back. Which seemed to work. His Mum had been somewhat easier to shake, accepting his vague excuse about spending the night with a friend because he hadn't wanted to risk a splinching. Normally, informing her that he'd been too pissed to Apparate safely would've been fair cause for a severe reprimanding, but she'd merely let him off by saying "as long as you were safe," before dropping the matter entirely. Perhaps his recent stint in St. Mungo's had her feeling a bit more lenient, and he wondered how much longer that would last.

Hermione had been a different matter entirely. He'd had the perfect chance to talk to her when he'd come home and found her waiting in his bedroom, but he'd chickened out, and ever since he'd felt her eyes on him, her presence hovering just over his shoulder or in the next room over.

He knew he had to talk to her. But just as he'd been working up the nerve, Harry had shown up and asked him for a fly. Ron had tried telling him off, to ask Ginny instead, but Harry had cheerfully insisted on it just being the two of them since he'd be moving out soon and such chances would be less frequent.

Of course, they were only out there a matter of minutes before Harry's true motive revealed itself when he asked Ron what he'd done after leaving George and Angelina the night before. Ron had been honest…to an extent. He knew why Harry was asking. But he could've been a bit subtler and not run straight to Ginny's room to relay everything to Hermione the minute they came inside. Not that Ron minded. She'd probably been worried sick, even if she hadn't said so. It was _Hermione _after all, and if he wasn't ready to talk to her, then Harry could take care of that much at least.

But did she need to look so _sad_? All through dinner he'd found himself watching her, trying not to let his eyes linger but always finding them drawn back to her face. She was hiding it well—probably no one else had even noticed—but there was no doubt in Ron's mind that she was upset. About what exactly, he couldn't be sure: was it the fact that he'd gone to see Verity, their brief encounter up in his room, or his hurried flight after their kiss the day before? Probably all that and everything else, truth be told. She had to be just as exhausted by their run-around as he was. He needed to straighten things out…and soon. She was leaving in only a matter of days, and neither could go on in one another's presence as they were for much longer.

He just needed a few hours to finish sorting things out. As long as he got a little peace and qu—

"Sulking again ickle Ronniekins?" George asked, launching himself onto Ron's bed beside where he was sitting. "Thought you left that to me these days?"

"Shove off, George," Ron bit out. He should've known coming up to his room and closing the door was just asking for some to disturb him. But he supposed it could've been worse. At least George was just annoying, and probably wouldn't bother him about Hermione, unlike Harry or his sister.

"Aw, don't be like that, little brother. I just wanted to come see if you wanted to dish and offer my congratulations…or condolences if your mood suggests what I think it does."

Ron closed his eyes, wishing he had the patience to ignore George, knowing he'd give up if he thought he wasn't getting to Ron. "What are you on about?"

"Last night you lucky bloke!"

"What about it?"

George frowned. "Was it really bad enough you've already Obliviated the memory? You should've asked first. I've had more than my share of nights of regret and got that charm down to an art. No telling what else you might've erased by mistake."

"If you're not going to explain what the bloody hell you're talking about—"

"Your first shag, mate! Come on, it only happens once in a bloke's life. You can tell me about it. Swear I won't laugh…but if you hear any coughing, you should know I've got a tickle in my throat that just won't go away."

"I didn't shag Verity," Ron stated plainly, rolling his eyes, not quite surprised that word of his previous evening's whereabouts had already reached George's ears.

George sat up and looked him in the face, searching for the truth. "Are you sure?"

"You saw me when I left the pub. I wasn't that pissed." He paused. "Wait. How do you know I haven't shagged someone else?"

George waved him off as if to say 'don't insult me.' "Well I'm not sure I believe you, but if you're being honest you might want to tell a recently de-bushed houseguest of ours."

"Forget the advice and stick to the jokes, George; it's what you're good at."

"Ah, but you know I've always been something of a renaissance man." Ron snorted. "Honest though, what's the holdup. If you're not shagging my assistant…"

"Does it look like we're together?"

"I won't even try and answer that one. And even if you weren't it's not like it would take more than three words from you to change that."

"You might not know this, having no respect for other's privacy, but coming up here was supposed to be a sign I wanted to be _alone_. So if you don't mind…"

It was George's turn to snort. "Like there's any chance of getting some peace in this house."

"Tell me about it."

"Partly why I'm thinking of getting out."

Ron sat up in surprise. "Really?"

George nodded. "Been thinking about moving back into the old flat. I've been getting it ready for a while. You want in?"

It took Ron a second to process what George was offering. "Move in with you?"

"Why not? Unless you enjoy Mum folding your linens for you. I'm telling you right now, I won't be stuck washing your knickers every week. Fred

"You're serious?" Ron asked in disbelief.

"Course I'm serious. I know you turned Harry down and I just thought…I mean after everything you've done…you know with the shop and all…"

Ron hadn't heard George sound so exposed since they'd last visited Fred's grave together the day Victorie was born. George wasn't offering out of charity, and despite his words Ron doubted it was just to settle some debt for all his work in the shop. George really wanted him as his roommate. "Yeah. Uh thanks. Thanks George."

George smiled. "Sure. In fact, if you want some quiet you could head over there now for the night. I've already got my old room straightened out and fit for habitation. Of course, if you want to do some cleaning while you're over there…"

Ron shoved his brother playfully in lieu of an actual hug before standing. "Wait." He turned back. "You said you're room is ready. But what about—"

"I'll take Fred's old room," George replied in understanding.

"You're sure?" Ron asked.

"Unless you prefer the couch, yeah I'm sure."

"Thanks George," Ron said again, his voice softer this time.

"Alright. Don't need you weeping all over me," George said, giving Ron a gentle kick in the arse toward the door. "Those cobwebs won't clean themselves. We'll break the news to Mum tomorrow, yeah?'

Ron shuddered. "Did you say cobwebs?"

George grinned fiendishly. "Consider it one last test to prove that you're ready for the big bad Aurors." Ron groaned. "Now get out of here. Mum's distracted at the moment trying to show Harry how to make her gingersnaps."

Ron nodded resolvedly and hurried from the Burrow to the Disapparation point…

…and found himself landing right on top of a floor that immediately vanished out from under him, landing him on his arse. Ron let out a sharp yell of pain as his head fell back and hit a box filled with what must've been rocks, and rubbed the rapidly swelling bump forming there.

"George!" Ron grumbled, looking to see what had caused his accident and finding an odd piece of lumber with wheels bolted to the bottom. Some sort of Muggle contraption no doubt, and Ron wondered what reason George could possibly have for possessing it. Then again, it could've been Fred's…

Ron stood, rubbing his bum and muttering quiet curses in the dim light of the flat, vaguely wondering if George had forgotten to turn the lights off after leaving the shop earlier.

"Ron."

It was the gentlest of whispers, the sweetest he'd ever heard, a voice he knew better than his own mother's. Reacting instinctively his hand dove for his pocket, finding the Deluminator there and pulling it out to look at it. He was met with disappointment; the large crack he'd caused remained, the magical object still broken and he chuckled softly at his foolishness for forgetting that it was still broken.

But he head another sound, a soft clatter of wood on wood, and this time he was sure it came from inside the flat. He turned toward it and his eyes landed on her. She was just standing there, her eyes red, her cheeks puffy, her short hair a complete disaster. And looking absolutely adorable in…_Is that my old Quidditch kit? _

"Her-Hermione?" He didn't even know if he'd actually said that out loud or just inside his thoughts. Why…how was she _here_? Was he dreaming? How hard had he hit his head exactly?

Before he had the chance to pitch himself to check, she was there, her lips pressed to his heatedly. The kiss was like _nothing _he'd ever experienced, nothing like the one's they'd shared in the passed. Her tongue moved against his insistently trying to tell him something. _But what_? And before he could figure it out they were gone and she was pulling away.

Only this time, he didn't let her. He refused to let her go again, to pretend this wasn't what he wanted. His arms drew her back, lifting her into the air. And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back. It was that easy.

It always had been that easy. And he realized he'd had so much trouble figuring out what to say because words had never been enough for this…_thing_ between them. The hard part had always been trying to stay away from one another, not from actually being together. It was like he'd been awake for a thousand days and Hermione was sweet sleep he'd finally allowed to overtake him. Every time he pulled away from her for just a moment, gasping for air and any thought besides one of her, she reclaimed his lips immediately, refusing to let him slip away in the slightest. And he was all too willing to be captured again and again and again…

…

Even as Hermione refused to stop kissing him, she couldn't stop herself from wondering what was going, why this was happening after so long. She knew she should be allowing herself to be swept away in billowing passion, losing herself in Ron's kisses and caresses that seemed to cover every inch of her exposed skin. But everything was still so complicated, so confusion, and she had no clue what would happen when they eventually came up for air. Should she stop this? Make Ron talk to her to make sure they were on the same page before things went any further, or just enjoy the moment?

Thankfully, Ron decided to make that decision for her. "Just stop thinking," he told her, his warm breath hitting her face before he pulled the Quidditch jersey over her head and tossing it. She responded by putting her hands on the back of his head and drawing him toward her as they stumbled their way back into George's bedroom. The back of her legs hit the bed and she fell back, away from Ron for a moment and she looked up at him.

His eyes burned with that old, fiery passion part of her still believed he reserved only for her even after all this time, looking down on her with lust or love—they were practically the same thing coming from Ron. His shirt quickly joined hers on the floor before he was once again on top of her, the pressure of his arousal against her stomach more than enough to convince that that for right now at least they wanted the same thing.

She pushed him back and sat up, quickly unhooking her bra and letting it fall from her chest. Despite knowing what they both wanted, despite knowing that Ron had already seen her and where this night was headed, her hands reached up to cover herself modestly. It'd been over a year since they'd been together and Ron had been with Verity just the night before. What if he found her disappointing now that he had something…or someone rather to compare her to? The fact that he'd also seen Lavender way back in sixth year didn't even enter into her head.

Ron reached up, taking her hands in his own and pulling them away to look at her.

"Merlin you're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he breathed, taking in her presence. "So beautiful, so perfect, so sexy…I'd almost forgotten."

The smile that spread across her face was so large her cheeks hurt with the strain. "I'm not," she muttered, her eyes downcast, blushing in the dim light.

Ron's hand cupped her face and Hermione turned into it, reveling how warm he felt, how large and safe she felt to literally be in Ron's hand and he turned her to look at him. She knew Ron meant what he said, and more importantly knew Ron's opinion was the only one that mattered to her, but she couldn't help wanting him to say it again. It was dumb and superficial and girly but…she liked it when Ron brought that out in her. Ron was the only boy she'd ever wanted to see that side of her. She fine most of the time being the serious, studious, swotty little busy-body, so prim and proper that students at Hogwarts had taken to muttering how desperately their Head Girl had needed to remove the stick from her bum and get stuffed with something else instead…

"You are. You're the sexiest witch—no person…no, the sexiest thing I've ever…"

"Alright, I get it," she giggled, shushing him. "And you're gorgeous Ron Weasley."

"Hermione…it's not right to call a bloke gorgeous."

"Well, I think you know a good way to shut me up."

And Ron did, with pleasure.

His hands moved over her, pulling and pinching at her, gently first but growing increasingly rough and desperate. For her part, Hermione's hands cupped his bum pulling him tightly against her to relieve some of the pent-up frustration but only making it worse. They moved to the front, unbuckling his trousers and shucking both them and his boxers low enough that Ron could kick them free so that only her knickers remained between them.

She sucked in her breath looking down at him. "Show me, Ron. Teach me. Teach me how."

He looked at her strangely, his smile growing fainter. "Think between us, you're the only one who's done this before."

Hermione winced. Why? Why had she said anything to make him remind her of what she'd done? She was so distraught at ruining the moment that she didn't comprehend Ron's admission or what it meant. She was too focused on making him understand what she meant. She _needed _him to understand. This wasn't just about sex. Not that she was an expert to begin with: the bits and flashes she could remember of her night with Nathan would be nothing like what was happening between her and Ron. But after all her mistakes ad errors she'd come to realize how little she'd understood of love. Even though she knew she'd meant it when she'd finally said those words to Ron, she still hadn't known what she was saying, what she was really offering. Love, feelings, emotions…those were Ron's territory. He'd always felt so strongly that he'd never been able to restrain himself, letting them out through his temper or protective nature. They might've been accidents, revelations of things Ron didn't mean to share with her—or anyone else—but they'd always been there. When Ron loved something, he did it with his entire being, putting every inch of his soul into it. And that's what she wanted to give him, now and always. And she needed his help to make sure he succeeded.

"Not…like…_that_. Help me…I need you to show me…teach me…love." Unable to look at him to see whether he truly comprehended her words, she looked away, pulling her legs up to slide her knickers down them. And then it was Ron's turn to try and draw breath.

Ron would never be the gentlest person, and he could be a downright jerk if someone was bothering him when he was in a bad mood. Back in school he probably could've been Mr. Popularity if he'd spread himself around more rather than devoting all his time to her and Harry and scared away anyone that threatened to come between them. He just had an air about him that made him likeable, easy to relate to. She'd seen it firsthand back in fifth year when he'd eventually come around and acknowledged that he was a prefect and started acting like one. He'd driven her mad at first, shirking his duties and fighting her every time she asked him to back her up. She knew now that it had been a combination of guilt for getting the badge he'd thought belonged to Harry, a desire to distance himself from anything related to Percy or give Fred and George any more ammunition to tease him with, and that eternal lack of faith in his own abilities that had crippled him for years, but at the time she was ashamed to admit she'd simply decided he was a shoddy prefect. The only things he'd seemed to enjoy about his title was his ability to take points away from Slytherins (though it was always more of a threat that he rarely acted on), and bossing around first years. But then, one day, she'd caught him pulling aside a couple third years. They'd been in possession of a few items on Filch's forbidden list. If Hermione had been the one to find them first, she would've no doubt confiscated them, docked a good twenty points from Gryffindor, and tattled to McGonagall and probably landed them in detention. But Ron just gave them a stiff warning, telling them what _would _happen if someone else caught them and gotten them to agree

_That _was the real Ron. He was always acting tough and brave and fearless (unless you mentioned spiders of course), and while he _was _all those things, they were really a cover for the Ron who believed Harry could do anything and was the only one who could convince Harry of the same thing, the Ron who went crazy over his little sister only because he was deathly afraid someone would hurt her or take advantage of her again like Riddle had, the Ron who tried his hardest to get her to open her eyes to what the house-elves wanted so she didn't feel like a failure when her misguided efforts to free them didn't succeed and stayed up with her in the common room while she studied when Harry was off at Quidditch or with Dumbledore or sulking over whatever new thing had happened that week even though she knew he had to be bored stiff. It was why he was the only one who could get her to put the books down or leave the library because she couldn't keep her eyes open or forgot to eat or just needed to take a break before she drove herself crazy with the insane pressures she put upon herself to be the best.

That was Ron, someone who always tried to be what those he cared about needed him to be, rather than what they wanted. And as Ron wormed his way down her body, planting large, wet kisses down her stomach and blowing on them gently and making her shiver before moving to a new shop, he was doing it again: being exactly what she needed.

…

Ron was still puzzling over what Hermione was getting at when she removed the last little bit of clothing keeping him from seeing her…all of her. He needed this to be good for her, for both of them, so perfect that she forgot who Nathan was or what they'd done together once and for all. Or maybe it was him who needed to forget as he hooked one arm beneath her leg and parted her folds with his other hand and let his tongue reach out and taste her, tentatively.

It was nothing really, but he heard her moan his name softly and smiled. If her current state was anything remotely like his own, it wouldn't take much to set her off. That was part of the reason he'd done this first when all he wanted was to bury himself inside her, feel her heat and tightness around him. Once that happened, he knew he wouldn't last long and he'd be damned if he didn't bring her off at least once. His tongue swirled around her, hitting every fold, every nerve again and again, adding his fingers to help her along.

"Ron!" she moaned again and he sped up his ministrations, pumping his fingers in and out of her furiously has his mouth latched onto her and sucked gently.

But just as he could sense that she was reaching her peak she was pushing him away. "Wha—?" he asked, running his tongue across his lips.

"Inside. I want you inside me when I…when I…"

She couldn't seem to get the words out, but Ron understood and was more than willingly to comply, moving back over his previous path back to her lips and kissed her as he felt her small hands guiding him to her opening.

And then with one roll of her hips he was inside her. And this time, not even the end of the world would stop him. He thrust into her, needed to feel as much of her as their bodies would allow, setting a slow pace as he thrust into her over and over, his face pressed into the pillow next to her head. It was hard to breath, and Hermione's insistent grip on the back of his neck wasn't allowing him to control the pace as he felt his own pressure building.

"Let go," he heard her muttering into his hear as her lips latched onto his neck. "Just let go."

Ron lifted himself up, as his hips moved faster than he would've thought was safe but the look on Hermione's face told him she wasn't about to protest. Her hands reached back to the headboard, giving her leverage to meet his pounding thrusts blow for blow and Ron finally let go as he felt her own release tighten around him.

"Hermione!"

"Ron—"

He collapsed, drained and exhausted, cognizant enough to avoid landing on top of her. They lay their a moment, flushed and panting before Hermione pulled herself against him, her leg curling over his, her face fitted into the crook of his neck.

"That…huh…uh…that was…phew…"

"I know…" Hermione said, feeling her chest heave breathlessly against his own, their hearts pounding the same way their bodies had been moments before. A million thoughts raced through his mind and he wondered if this was how Hermione felt all the time: like her head was so full it was threatening to burst. But he was too sated to care, too happy to worry, and he was more than happy to let sleep take him.

Hermione however seemed to have different ideas. Gently, she rolled him over flat onto his back and slid down his body, kissing his chest first, and then his stomach, mimicking his earlier movement, her nails raking over his nipples. And then he could feel the heat of her breath as her face drew level with him…_it_.

"Hermione..." Ron whispered groggily. "You don't havta—"

"Just let go, Ron," she told him, parroting his own advice back to him. "You don't have to do anything."

"It might…I probably need a minute…to recover," he told her, not really conscious of what he was saying as she began rubbing her chest over his crotch enticingly. He still couldn't believe what had just happened but _this_…this was almost too much. He'd gone down on her a few times before, but Hermione had never done the same for him. He'd never been disappointed; he hadn't wanted to pressure her into anything she was uncomfortable with, and making her cum was somehow even better than getting off himself. But now she was behaving like he'd never seen her, taking her tits in her hands and squeezing them together around his cock in a decidedly shameless manner.

"Seems like you're recovering just fine," she told him brazenly. And sure enough his cock was already showing signs of life, even harder than before. And while his sex-addled brain tried to come up with some kind of response, Hermione curtailed any attempt at conversation as her small, soft lips wrapped around his head.

_Merlin that's incredible_, Ron thought, letting out a moan as her tongue began to stroke him, her lips drawn tight as she sucked while her small breasts continued to squeeze his base. It was all he could do to remember to breathe, and thank the Weasley genes for making such an act possible.

However, it was quickly apparent that such an action wasn't enough for either of them as Hermione lifted herself onto her knees to take him deeper into her mouth, her cold, tiny hands stroking him every time she paused for breath, coating his entire length with her saliva. Being inside her had been incredible but this…he'd hesitate to call it better, but this position gave her so much control over the pleasure she was giving him, and he didn't have to try and distract himself with images of Aunt Muriel to make sure he lasted long enough to ensure it was good for both of them.

All too soon Ron's hips were lifting, thrusting deep into her mouth as the urgency of his pending release built. Thankfully Hermione had figured out enough to practically keep still while she let him fuck her mouth, her lips gripping him tightly every time he puled out as if she hated to let him go even for a moment. "Hermione…I'm…I'm going to…"

She sat back and Ron groaned at the loss. But before he could complain she was climbing on top of him until her lips straddled his. "I don't mean to tease," she told him, panting slightly as she rocked her against his hardness as her lips slid over him again and again. "I just don't think it's fair…to waste…on my mouth."

And then she took him in had and slid him back inside her, sliding up and down on his cock, rolling her hips at the end each time to rub her clit against him. Ron was dying with the strain of not coming. She was just so wet, so tight around him as her fingers curled into his chest hair as she pushed and pulled against him. He reached up, his hand large enough to caress both breasts in one sweep before settling on the left, rolling her nipple beneath him palm.

It was too much, and with a gutted cry Ron came, spilling himself inside her for the second time. But instead of moving off him, Hermione continued rocking against him even as he softened inside her, determined to gain her own release. And it wasn't long before she found it, her inner muscles contracting, pushing him and their combined fluids out as he slipped out of her. She managed to kiss him one last time languidly before she completely collapsed upon him, her breasts flattening against his chest as her legs entwined around his. And as Ron's eyes closed in exhaustion, he prayed that he'd been as good a teacher as Hermione had been for him all those years at Hogwarts.

…

_9 July, 1999_

Hermione realized she was humming, her body sore in a million places, her limbs heavy and lifeless as she sprawled out on George's old bed as she listened to the sounds of Ron's shower. They'd spent the rest of the night catching their breath and taking brief cat naps between making love twice more and never could she remember feeling more content.

Since that first kiss during the battle, Hermione had counted each and every kiss she and Ron shared, remembering how each one was different, trying to decipher what each one meant to Ron…to them. But last night she'd completely lost track. After finally giving in she hadn't wanted to stop and think what each kiss meant, whether each one was bringing them closer to their last. She'd just wanted to feel as much as possible, take as many kisses as he'd offered and give twice as many in return.

But after Ron had finally drifted off to sleep, she'd been able to count other things: for instance, the number of freckles Ron had on his arms, his chest, his back. Her fingers had mapped every inch of Ron, finally given the time they'd never been permitted last spring when everything had been rushed and frantic and new. She'd looked at him, really looked at him, admiring the shape of his…penis, how heavy it was in her hand, how smooth it felt, and how it twitched sporadically as she played it with it despite Ron's lack of consciousness. She knew last night was just as much about making up for lost time as those early explorations had been, but someone shed felt it was different. Now there was no rush, no looming prospect of Hogwarts to return to or parents to find or threat of Ron's family members interrupting them at any minute, no funerals or sorrow hanging over their heads to color everything in shades of black. This was how it was supposed to be, waking up together in bed, and she knew she never wanted to spend another night without him.

She'd watched Ron sleep dozens of times over the years—in Grimmauld Place, in the tent during the search for Horcruxes, in the common room, and that one time third year after Sirius' intrusion forced everyone into the Great Hall for the night—but this was completely different. At some point, she'd looked to find him awake and watching her, a silly grin on his face telling her he knew what she was doing and thought her ridiculous. She'd flushed and opened her mouth to explain but he'd silenced her with a kiss before telling her that he'd never understand the barmy things she did before they made love one last time before she'd finally allowed sleep to put a brief end to things.

She smiled again, running her fingers up and down her chest and stomach, wondering if Ron was up for one more round before she had to meet Harry to go look at their new flat. God, was it normal to still want more after everything they'd done? She knew she wanted more, but her body told her otherwise as her fingers lightly brushed over her swollen lips and winced slightly. Maybe a few hours break was needed. Maybe he'd want to come with them…help pick out which bedroom they wanted to use for similar encounters in the future…tonight for instance…

Ron stepped through the door fully dressed in the same clothes he'd worn the night before, bringing her daydreams to an abrupt halt.

"Hey," he said. He was smiling, but his voice was coarse.

"Hi," she said, suddenly feeling rather underdressed and pulling the sheets up to cover herself as he sat down on the bed next to her.

"I think I should head back to the Burrow. I'm not sure what George told Mum, but I doubt she's happy with me spending the night out two nights in a row."

Right. He'd been with Verity the night before. That was something they still hadn't talked about…among other things. "Of course," Hermione said, swinging her legs to the side of the bed and taking the sheets with her for modesty's sake. "I'll just—"

"No hurry. Take your time. I've got some things to do anyway, so no rush."

"Oh, right," Hermione said, as she stood, hiding her disappointment from Ron. "But I'll see you there later?" she asked hopefully.

Ron touched her face, brining her back to look at him and kissing her gently. "Yeah. We'll talk…later."

And then he was gone, leaving her there, alone and confused.

She showered and dressed quickly, hoping she'd find Ron waiting for her at the Burrow with Harry, hoping he'd wanted to arrive separately simply to avoid letting his entire family know they'd spent the night together.

She walked inside the Weasley family home to find everyone breakfasting at the table…everyone beside Ron.

"Oh, Hermione! Come and sit down and I'll fix you a plate," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Thanks but I'm alright," Hermione told her, her gaze moving across Harry and Ginny who were looking at her concernedly before reaching George who was steadfastly avoiding her eyes and looking torn between guilt and amusement. It was then that she finally put two and two together and realized George had orchestrated last night's events beautifully. He must've told Ron the same thing he'd told her, offering the privacy and solace of the flat to Ron while knowing she would already be there. Had he known what would happen, even before they did? Had he really counted on Ron finally letting his guard down around her long enough for them to straighten things out? It didn't seem likely, especially considering how she'd explained how Ron had spent the previous night with Verity. But, then again, her body's soreness served to remind her that those things with Ron really had taken place and weren't just a figment of her fantasies. Then again, maybe he'd actually expected them to talk…rather than just fall into bed together. Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Is Ron—?"

"Nonsense dear. Here, you can sit right next to Ginny," Mrs. Weasley cut her off, forcing her into a chair and setting a plate of eggs and kippers in front of her.

"That was delicious. Top notch as always, Mum," said George, rising from his chair the moment Hermione sat down. "Well, I'm off. Head-shrinking Hats don't sell themselves."

"Hold on, George!" Hermione called, starting to follow him.

"Got to run," he called, darting out of the room. And before she could catch another glimpse of him, she heard him shouting "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" and disappearing in a swirl of green flames.

Mournfully, Hermione returned to her seat, shoveling food into her mouth absentmindedly as Harry and Ginny looked on concernedly while Molly remained totally oblivious. Why hadn't she just demanded Ron actually talk to her at any point in the night, actually try and figure out what it all meant or where they were headed once they woke up? Oh, sure they'd talked in those little moments while they'd been recovering, but it had been silly nonsense, sweet nothings or playful reminiscences of memories from their school days, filled with laughter and joy and totally bereft of the sadness they'd both lived through for the past twelve months. At the time she'd reveled in the closeness, in just being there with Ron with nothing—physically or emotionally—between them, but now she felt stupid for not thinking ahead.

The night had started with her wanting just one last kiss, a last chance to let Ron know how much she loved him and always would: as stupid, thoughtless idea as she'd ever had. What had she expected to happen: Ron would just accept the kiss and then walk away from her, from them, forever? It would've killed her if that had happened, but the way things played out wasn't really any better. She was still lost, clueless about why he'd let it continue. At the time, she'd been too happy to care, but now she was once again waiting for Ron to make his move. He'd said they would talk, but what if it was just to thank her for the shag, the chance to finally get some closure on their disaster of a relationship? Would she really feel any better now that she and Ron had finally been together completely?

"So, Hermione…" she looked up at the sound of Harry's tentative voice. "Ginny and I were thinking we could go over to the flat after we finished up here so we could get your name on the lease. Make it official."

Hermione nodded thoughtlessly.

"And then we can start bringing your stuff over," Ginny added, trying to sound excited. "I know Mum's already picked out some things she wants to give you both, but we could go shopping and pick some new things out too."

"Of course," Hermione said flatly, and Harry and Ginny exchanged another worried look. She guessed they had no idea what exactly had went on the previous night or played any part in George's scheme, but they obviously sensed that a night's rest hadn't made her and Ron's situation any better.

As they packed a few things and headed into London, Hermione considered asking them if they'd seen Ron earlier, if he really had stopped by as he'd claimed, but decided against it. Part of the reason she'd taken George's offer to stay in his flat was because she knew she'd been forcing herself into Ron's business where she wasn't exactly wanted, and putting their friends in the difficult positions of go-between. It wasn't fair to any of them to continue grilling them. Ron would come to her when he was ready. She believed that much. And even if what he had to say wasn't what she wanted to hear she would have to accept it, for all their sakes.

…

Ron had rushed out of the twins'—his and George's he corrected—flat as soon as he'd gotten up that morning. Being in Hermione's presence was intoxicating. He felt delirious after the events of last night, which was the exact opposite of his desire to clear his head when he'd accepted George's offer.

George. The wanker had known exactly what he'd set up. It had been written all over his face the minute Ron arrived back at the Burrow, but Ron had decided he didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction of thanking him. or blowing up at him. He was grateful to some extent, but it had been a risky move. Sure, knowing that he hadn't shagged Verity had probably convinced George that Ron wouldn't kick Hermione out of the flat once he discovered her, but it had still been a gamble.

He'd ignored Harry and Ginny, apologizing to his mum again for worrying her, but she'd waved him off, telling him that George had explained everything. Ron hadn't even wanted to know exactly what George had told her, but apparently he'd explained that he and George would be moving out and into the flat above the shop permanently as soon as they could get their things together. He'd expected his mum to sound regretful, but seemed to be taking the news quite well, obviously accepting it as inevitable after watching the rest of her children move on with their lives outside the safety of her nest.

So Ron had grabbed a quick bite and headed out, not wanting to still be there when Hermione arrived. He'd meant it when he had a few things to settle first before their inevitable conversation, and headed straight to the Ministry's Department of Magical Transportation, purchasing the first available ticket for a Floo connection to Australia.

Having only travelled internationally by Floo once before on the family trip to Egypt, he'd forgotten just how long and frustrating the process was, and his anxiousness didn't help matters. It had taken ages to sort through the paperwork required, and even then he'd had to hopscotch across fireplaces scattered through Europe and Asia before finally arriving at his destination. A Portkey would've been both quicker and more direct, but without pre-approval from both Ministries or any pressing concerns, he would've had to wait at least a day for things to be sorted. And with the time difference it was already early evening by the time he arrived at his destination.

But at last, he was here, once again standing on the doorstep of the Granger's home in Perth, shaking with nerves as he knocked late in the evening, hoping they weren't already asleep and praying there wasn't some obvious sign on him proclaiming "I SHAGGED YOUR DAUGHTER LAST NIGHT."

The door opened, revealing Mr. Granger, thankfully not already dressed for bed.

"Oh," Mr. Granger said, his eyes widening in recognition. "You're Hermione's, er, friend. Ronald, right?"

"Yeah. Uh, yes sir," Ron said.

"Is she alright?" the man asked anxiously.

"She's fine," Ron said reassuringly.

"Well come in, coming in. It's quite nippy out and you're practically shaking."

Ron wanted to tell the man that it had nothing to do with the cold, but kept his mouth shut as he was ushered inside. "Caroline, could you put a spot of tea on for us?'

"Of course," Hermione's mum called back. "Who was at the door, sweetheart?"

"Ronald. Ron, Hermione's friend."

Ron winced at the label but again said nothing. He could almost imagine Mrs. Granger's gasp at her husband's words in the other room as the two men took their seats.

"Well, now that you've told me my daughter's alright, I except you'd like to share what you're doing so far from home so late at night."

"Yeah, I ah…sorry for showing up like this without Owling-calling first," he corrected first, feeling very nervous. "I just…" He just _what_? What exactly _was _he doing here, sitting with Hermione's father? "I love your daughter…sir."

The man chuckled, and some of the worry in his face vanished, though his ease didn't help calm Ron in the slightest. "Well…that's good. So do I young man. You've known each other for a long time, been through a lot from what Hermione tells u."

"I mean I'm in love with her," Ron rushed out.

"Ah yes, well. That's good? I mean, assuming she feels the same way. She does, doesn't she?"

"I…I think so. We…I…" Ron struggled to remember Hermione's letter, and what she'd said about how much she'd shared with her parents about their relationship. "We've…this last year has been…hard." The man just looked at him stoically so Ron continued, deciding he just needed to tell him everything…mostly. "We were together when she came looking for you last year. I was supposed to go with her. I promised her, but I didn't."

"No, you didn't," he said flatly.

Ron winced, remembering his own part in instigating the mess they still hadn't extracted themselves from. "It was a mistake. And it's been hard, trying to patch up all the shite that happened as a result. Sorry," Ron said, excusing his language.

"It's fine, Ron," Mr. Granger told him as Mrs. Granger came into the room with their tea and joining her husband on their settee. "But I'm sorry I don't quite see how that leads to you being here now."

"Sorry," Ron apologized, cognizant of how much easier it was to say sorry to anyone other than Hermione, even for little things. "You see, I want to be with her. I need her, I always have."

"And have you told her this?" Mrs. Granger asked hesitantly.

"I wanted to talk to you first, both of you."

"Hermione's an adult, a grown woman. She doesn't need our permission before deciding who she wants as a boyfriend."

"Ron colored at the idea of being Hermione's boyfriend…officially…again. But what he wanted was so much more than that, and he needed them to understand. "The thing is, with me and your daughter…Hermione, it can't just be something casual. It's too complicated for that; we're too close to just end up as friends. I…I realize that now. So it's sort of all or nothing…it has to be."

Hermione's parents glanced at each other and Ron was strongly reminded of the way his own parents seemed capable of having entire conversations with just a look at times when they didn't want their children to know what they were talking about.

"Are you sure you understand what you're saying?" Mr. Granger asked.

Ron nodded "I do."

"Do you?" Mrs. Granger pressed. "I mean, I'm sorry but it sounds like you haven't even talked to Hermione yet. You aren't even together. Don't you think you're rushing into things?"

Ron held back a moment, trying to find the right words. "I know…I know it's too soon to be thinking about forever. I mean I don't even know what will happen tomorrow, so forget even a year or two from now. But at the same time, this…I know what I feel for your daughter, and how long I've felt this way. It's been years…since I realized it. She's it, the only one. And I don't plan to rush into things. I know we need time to figure things out but…I don't think…before we can try, I have to be sure of how it'll end."

"You can't be sure," Mr. Granger admittedly, placing his hand over his wife's. "No one can. Life is full of uncertainties."

"I know but—" Mr. Granger held up his hand.

"What if it doesn't work out?"

"It has to," Ron said adamantly.

"Why? I mean you've just told me that you let her leave you once. And Hermione told us as much while she was living here. What happens if someone similar comes up in the future?"

Ron knew what he wanted to say; he wanted to be able to look into this man's eye and tell him that he would always be there for his daughter, that he would never again leave her side or let her go. But could he do that in good faith, given his track record?

Ron's resolve hardened, remembering back to the images that had filled his head in those quiet moments with Hermione the night before between shags when he was just barely lucid. It was then he'd decided to come see the Grangers first thing, when he'd figured out what he needed to tell Hermione when they finally talked, when he pictured them waking up together every morning, not just now but for years to come, seeing them in bed in their future home, age lines and grey hair and little red-haired children running into their bedroom to tell them it was time to get up for breakfast and sending Hermione scrambling for the sheets to cover herself with and hide what mummy and daddy had been up to before they arrived. Even older Hermione was beautiful in Ron's imagination and he wanted to see these dreams play out in reality. He wanted it more than anything.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver lighter and set it on the table, drawing both the Grangers' eyes. He'd found it that morning on his way to the shower, exactly where he'd dropped it the night before when he'd thought he'd heard Hermione's voice coming from its broken casing. Only when he'd picked it up, it hadn't been broken; the long crack running through it had sealed itself somehow, inexplicably. He'd pocketed it, remembering Dumbledore's words about how 'things having a way of fixing themselves' given the proper time and encouragement. It had seemed to easy, but remembering how much it had taken them just to get to that point, he supposed 'easy' wasn't exactly the right word. And after everything else he'd experienced, he wasn't about to start questioning he magic of love. "Mine and Hermione's…our Headmaster…he left me this in his will last year."

"What is it?" Mr. Granger asked curiously, staring at it intently and doing a very good impression of Ron's own father whenever faced with an unfamiliar Muggle artifact.

"It's called a Deluminator. It's meant to turn on and off lights, but that's not all. You see it lets me hear Hermione's voice at times, when she needs me. And when it does, it can take me right to her, wherever she is. I sort of…broke it at one point. But it's fixed, see, so anytime, no matter what, I'll be there…if she wants me. And I want to be there for her. She needs me, the same way I need her. I think we sorta had to be apart to finally figure that out. I wish things had been different…for about a billion different reasons. But, well, it's not. And I don't want to dwell in the past anymore, at least not the bad parts. I'd rather think about the future. And my future is Hermione."

He looked up finally. Mr. Granger was still looking at the Deluminator intently, seemingly trying to determine how a cigarette lighter could do what Ron claimed, but Mrs. Granger was looking at him misty-eyed. She rose, moving to wrap her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she whispered in his as she hugged him. Ron patted her back uncomfortably, reminded of when Hermione had thrown herself at him in a similar fashion back in their year, apologizing profusely. He didn't quite understand what she was apologizing for, but decided he didn't really need to either: there was plenty of blame to go around, and if Mrs. Granger wanted to claim some part of it, who was he to argue?

"Let the man, breath dear. Can't you see you're making him uncomfortable?" Ron looked up at Mr. Granger and saw him smiling jovially.

His wife gave Ron one last squeeze before finally pulling away and wiping her eyes, laughing at herself. "Sorry, I just…I'm just overwhelmed I supposed."

"It's alright," Ron said, laughing awkwardly. "Hermione's the same way, I've noticed."

"I can see why she loves you. To come all this way, just to ask for our blessing."

"Not that you need it," Mr. Granger agreed, pulling his wife to him as she continued to laugh. "But we do appreciate it. Hermione hinted that your family's a bit old fashioned. It's good to see a young man like yourself wanting to do thing the right way." He offered his hand to Ron who took it, shaking it with immense relief.

"So what now?" Mrs. Granger asked, finally finished mopping up her eyes. "Are you headed back? How are you getting home? Do you need a place to stay for the night?"

"Actually, Mrs. Granger, there was one more thing I need you to help me with first. Tell me, how late are the shops open here in Perth?" Ron asked, with a gleam in his eye.

…

Hermione stepped back, admiring her fully stocked bookcase in her new flat feeling positively exhausted. There was nothing she wanted more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. After signing her name to the lease, she'd spent all morning running back and forth to the Burrow moving her and Harry's things over. When they'd finally finished around lunch, Ginny had suggested they go to lunch in Diagon Alley, an idea both Harry and Hermione had jumped at. Of course, as soon as that was finished Ginny had pulled her into the nearest shop where she'd spent hours 'helping' Hermione pick out things for the new flat. And even after she'd finally convinced Ginny that her feet were going to fall off if they didn't stop soon and her friend agreed to return to the flat they'd still had to unpack _everything_ which was an arduous task even with the help of magic.

As if that wasn't enough, she'd had to deal with Harry's and Ginny's excessive (and obviously forced) enthusiasm the entire time. Normally, she could've counted on Harry to tire of the whole thing a put a stop to it long before Hermione felt the need to open her own mouth, but he didn't offer so much as one complaint all day, not even when Ginny told him they could stop in Quality Quidditch Supplies some other time when Hermione wasn't with them as she'd be bored. Hermione had rolled her eyes at that one: none of the Weasleys nor Harry had ever minded dragging her into that store in the past. It was enough to exhaust anyone, and that was before factoring in how little sleep she'd gotten the night before…or the activities that'd superseded sleep in the first place.

She'd finally managed to get rid of them when it came time for dinner, telling them to go on back to the Burrow without her, while she stayed to alphabetize her personal library, but at least she'd gotten a few things she'd actually needed along with Ginny's many more 'impractical' suggestions. She'd even managed to get some things to make Kreacher's stay more comfortable, though she'd yet to devise a plan to convince him he no longer needed to sleep on a pile of ratted linens. Harry told her he would write McGonagall first thing in the morning, and Hermione was determined that Kreacher was to be more house guest than actual servant. She'd fixed up a small closet complete with a shrunken mattress and a place for him to store his nick knacks and whatever else he wanted to keep from Grimmauld Place.

Hermione sighed at that thought, knowing they were supposed to go through the old Black home over the weekend to see if it contained anything Harry wanted to use. She on the other hand was perfectly fine never setting foot in that place again, but had verbally agreed with Harry that it was a good idea. For the time being however, she refused to dwell on it, deciding to enjoy her newfound solitude in her knew home.

Of course, the absence of her friends meant quiet, and with quiet came thoughts with which to fill it. Thought of Ron for instance…

Just _where _had he been all day? What was he _doing_ that was so urgent it couldn't wait? More importantly, what was he _thinking _he could just leave her alone for hours? Did he know it would drive her mad? He had to. _It was probably part of his plan all along_, Hermione thought. _Convince me that he might actually still want me, still love me to get my hopes up, leave me to drown in my own thoughts and finally show up, days later, to tell me he's gone and gotten himself hitched to Verity and thank me for letting him get one over so he was completely sure he'd made the right choice._

Fuming, Hermione crossed her arms, falling back into an overstuffed armchair Ginny had found that was remarkably similar to those in the Gryffindor common room. It was one of Ginny's few purchases that she absolutely loved. Just seeing it had brought back countless hours she'd spent with Ron and Harry pulled up 'round the fire or curled up alone with a good book as she waited for the boys to wake up or return from Quidditch practice. She'd thought it the perfect thing to make the flat feel more like home.

But at the moment she just hated the damn thing; it was too big, too lumpy, too soft. So, she decided it was a good idea to take her frustrations out on the upholstery, deciding that if anyone questioned her she could always blame Crookshanks. She'd hated fretting over him. Worrying was in her nature, always had been, but she'd never wanted to be one of those girls who needed to know where her boyfriend was at all times or what he was doing…not that Ron was her boyfriend, or even likely to become her boyfriend.

She'd gone to George's flat in the first place to finally give Ron the space she knew he wanted but wasn't able to give him while they both were staying at the Burrow. But last night had completely ruined that plan. All she could think about was Ron, and she wished he would hurry up and find her so they could talk, even if was just to break her heart…again.

She told herself that no matter what she wouldn't get angry, wouldn't reveal how much his rejection would hurt her. But she knew herself too well, knew it was all just empty promises and she'd be lucky not to set all the progress they'd made the last few months back to where it'd been when he, Harry and Ginny first came looking for her last August. She supposed she'd just have throw herself into work and avoid Ron as much as possible, at least until she could handle being around him in small doses to the point where she wasn't throwing herself at him. It wasn't so much about preserving her dignity as it was about not wanting to make Ron uncomfortable. She needed him, even as just a friend, now that she'd left the safe familiarity of Hogwarts more than ever.

"Ron, where are you?" Hermione shouted inside the empty flat as she ripped a hunk of stuffing from the arm of her chair and proceeding to shred it in her hands. But to her surprise Ron appeared a moment later, landing right on her lap and knocking the wind right out of her.

"Umph!" Ron grunted. "Where am I?" he looked around and realized where he was sitting. "Hermione? What are you doing down there?"

"Trying to breathe," Hermione wheezed, struggling to push Ron off of her.

"Sorry," Ron muttered, standing up and looking slightly abashed. "Guess this thing can be pretty accurate when it wants to," Ron said.

Heaving, Hermione stood as well and looked at Ron was talking about. "The Deluminator? I thought you broke it?"

"I guess it's all better now," Ron said with a shrug. "I found it this morning when I got up, good as new. How else do you think I knew where to find you?"

Hermione nodded her head. It made sense, even if Ron's explanation of how the Deluminator had repaired itself didn't seem to cover everything. But that wasn't really important. She finally had Ron here in front of her. And she didn't want to waste any time before launching straight into it. _It's just like ripping off a band-aid, _she told herself, which completely failed to instill any confidence that she could graciously accept Ron's rejection.

"So where were you today?" she asked him, quite pleased that the question sounded innocuous enough rather than like the start of an interrogation.

"I, uh…like I said I had things to do."

"Things?"

"Errands," Ron said, revising his already vague statement without clarifying anything. Clearly he wasn't going to just come out and tell her what had been so important to keep him away from her all day. But she could guess.

"With Verity?" she asked, fighting to keep her tone under control.

"Verity?" Ron asked in puzzlement. "Why would I need to see Verity?"

"Maybe to explain what happened last night?" Hermione guessed, her timber rising. "It's okay; I understand. It's good that you wanted to be honest with her. Did she take it alright?"

"Explain…Hermione, you're not making any sense. Why would I tell Verity about last night?"

She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud. Why was Ron pretending to be so dense when she more than anyone knew how brilliant he could be when he tried. Instead, she just looked at him, waiting for the crushing blow to come.

Slowly, it dawned on him and his eyes lit up in realization. "Wait…did you…do you think something happened between me an' her the other night?"

"I'm not stupid Ron," Hermione said, sniffing slightly and fighting back tears. "Harry told me. And don't you dare get mad at him for doing so. He was just looking out for me. I guess he wanted to make sure I was prepared for when you explained it to me…assuming you were ever planning on doing so. Or maybe you were just going to show up at supper one night with her own her arm. 'Surprise Hermione, me and Verity are madly in love and oh, yes we're planning on getting married next month.'"

Hermione was gesturing wildly as she spoke. She knew her words were sharp and unfair and not at all what Ron deserved, but she had to act coldly toward him to hide her hurt, not that she was doing a particularly good job of it, she realized.

Surprisingly, Ron just laughed at her, doubling over and holding his sides as he struggled to get a few words out. "Hermione…god I swear. The things you come up with…better than me even…Maybe you should think about a career writing for Witch Weekly."

Hermione didn't find her words, or Ron's reaction to them, amusing in the least. Ron had a right to happiness, and to decide he didn't want her in his life…at least not in the way _she _wanted. But this…laughing at her…it was just cruel.

"I really don't see what's so funny about…about you breaking my…my…" And there were the tears she'd been doing an admirable job of holding back so far, leaking from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

That seemed to finally sober Ron up. "Hey," he said, reaching for her.

"Don't," Hermione told him, pulling away and crossing her arms, trying to close herself off, protecting her vulnerability.

"Come here," Ron said, unrelenting, taking her arms and pulling them apart before pulling her toward the chair, settling himself in first before pulling her onto his lap. "Have you…have you really thought I was with Verity all day?"

"From the minute Harry told me that's where you were two nights ago," Hermione whispered, correcting him. "Not that I hadn't suspected already."

Ron rubbed his face, sighing dramatically. "Merlin, I've bolloxed it up again, haven't I?"

Hermione barely took in his words, hiding her face from him as she struggled to get her tears under control. He took her face, and turned her to look at him, his broad hand wiping at her dampened cheeks.

"If I'd known…I wouldn't have…I didn't…I wouldn't have just left like that this morning. Nothing's going on between me and Verity, Hermione. Absolutely nothing."

She couldn't believe him. It just didn't add up with his actions the last two days, running away from her straight to Verity, spending the night in her flat, taking off first thing this morning looking like he couldn't wait to be rid of her and forget what had taken place between them."

"You're honestly going to sit there and say nothing happened?"

Ron looked away, but not before Hermione caught a look of guilt in his eyes. "Well…"

He went on to explain exactly what had taken place after she'd kissed him two days ago in Ginny's room, telling her how he'd just needed time and space to clear his head and straighten his thoughts, how Angelina had given him some advice at the pub, how he'd made one last-ditched effort to run away from his feelings by going to Verity. As he explained that part of the story, Hermione felt her heart clench, struggling to breathe at the knowledge that Ron _had _intended to sleep with Verity before she'd made him stop and think. But as he continued, as he repeated how Verity got him to admit that his actions had just been a desperate attempt to assert some kind of control over his life and how nothing really had happened passed those first few kisses, she slowly began to relax. The idea of Ron doing anything with Verity still hurt, even if it had remained relatively innocent, but knowing that deep down it had all been about her made it easier to accept. After all, it wasn't far off from why she'd first started up with Nathan, and her actions there were still a thousand times worse. And while a part of her knew she'd want to claw Verity's eyes out the next time she saw the witch for having captured even the slightest bit of Ron's affections, the hope that was slowly beginning to build inside of her as she listened overpowered her jealousy.

At last Ron's story seemed to come to an end as he paused for breath and Hermione jumped in anxiously. "So what is all this supposed to mean? I mean, when you cleared your head—you did, didn't you?"

Ron nodded. "Finally."

"And what did you come up with?" she asked tentatively.

"Well I finally admitted to myself what I already knew, what I've always known." Hermione held her breath, waiting anxiously for Ron to explain. "It's you Hermione, it's always been you. And I don't want that to ever change," he said with an enormous smile.

The tears that had finally dried returned in full-force, though she too couldn't help but smile. "Really?" she asked. It was almost too good to believe.

"Really," Ron assented.

Hermione flung her arms around his neck and proceeded to kiss every inch of his face, eventually finding his lips. But after just a short time, she felt Ron begin to stiff against her and she pulled back.

"Look. I need you to know I meant everything I just said. I want this. I want us, to work—"

"Me too," Hermione agreed quickly. "More than anything."

He smiled again before growing somber. "But there are some…conditions," he said hesitantly.

Hermione eyed him cautiously. "Such as?"

Ron took a large breath, steeling himself. "Well for one, I think we should take things slow for a bit. I don't want to rush into things and wind up in the same mess that broke us apart in the first place." Hermione nodded, more for him to continue than in actual agreement. "For one, I think…I don't think we should do…what we did last night. At least not right away." Hermione froze in his arms and Ron hurried to explain. "Don't get me wrong. Last night…I wouldn't change…I mean it was…"

"Amazing," Hermione supplied.

"It was that," Ron agreed. "But I dunno if we're ready for that. I mean I don't think it was a mistake or anything, but we sorta jumped into…_things_ last summer. And last night was the same thing. We hadn't even talked yet and we just fell into bed together. I just think taking things a bit more slowly for a bit would help us stay on the same page without losing our heads. I mean I don't know if you realize what you do to me—"

"Me too," Hermione agreed, blushing slightly as she remembered the feeling of having Ron inside her last night, filling her so completely.

"Right," Ron said, slightly embarrassed himself.

"So…" Hermione hesitated. "Do you want us to see other people too?"  
>"God no!" Ron said adamantly, and Hermione sighed in relief. "I don't want anyone else. And I <em>know <em>I couldn't see you with someone else." Hermione opened her mouth to tell him she felt the same way but he cut her off. "But I don't think we should go around telling people that we're together…at least not for a bit."

Hermione mulled over his words, worried for the first time since Ron had admitted he wanted to be with her. She understood his reasoning behind slowing down the physical side of her relationship, loathe as she was to admit it. Already it was hard to accept that once they were finished talking they wouldn't go off to the bedroom together, but if it was what Ron needed, she would try to be patient. But not telling people…that she didn't understand. Why didn't he want anyone to know, what reason could he possible have for not telling Harry, or Ginny, or George? Surely he knew Harry at least would be happy for them. He certainly hadn't been subtle about making it known that if it was up to him, she and Ron would already be together.

But if this was to work—and Hermione was more determined than she'd even been in her life—she realized that they would have to do things Ron's way. He'd already admitted how he was struggling with the idea of being in control of his feelings and their relationship, and she would just have to be patient as they rediscovered one another and themselves as a couple. They'd both changed so much in the last year, Ron especially, and regardless of any stipulations Ron made, she knew they could never got back to the way they were before she'd left for Australia; there was still so much hurt, so much deception, so much trust that needed to be rebuilt.

"If…if you think that's best," she consented.

"I know you don't like the idea of keeping us a secret," Ron said, obviously recognizing her worries and shifting her on his lap. "I don't much like it either. And I don't mean we lie about it or anything. It's just…I think it's better we don't go broadcasting our relationship until we've started to figure things out. Things are already so complicated without pressure from Harry…or my Mum."

Now _that _she understood quite well and could agree with Ron. She knew this was their second chance, and a third didn't seem very likely. Maybe it would be better if it was just about the two of them for a while…at least until they both got comfortable with the idea of being 'Ron and Hermione' again.

"Anything else?" she asked, hoping that was it.

"Well, I was thinking…maybe you'd like it if I took you out on a date," Ron said, shifting her even closer in his lap. "I mean, we never got the chance last year…not really. We were too busy dealing with everything. And I want do to this proper."

"So we'd be dating?" Hermione asked, shifting to make herself more comfortable.

"Is that alright?" Ron asked, and she could hear the concern in his voice. He knew what he was asking of her: time and patience while he relearned not to be so guarded around her. It broke her heart, even as she understood she had no one to blame for it but herself. She would just have to spend each and every day reassuring him that in his arms was exactly where she wanted to be and that she wasn't going anywhere. In fact, she rather liked that idea. If Ron were still wary of how their relationship would work, she would have to be the one to find ways to show her love for him. After all, she had nothing to lose by giving him her heart all over again, no reason to hold back. He would tell her if things were moving too fast, and until he did, she would do everything she could think to convince him.

"I think a date sounds lovely," she told him.

"A first date…" Ron sighed, smiling in relief that she wasn't fighting him and that they finally seemed to be one the same page.

"Kind of backwards, don't you think? After everything else we've been through together," she said, slightly teasing him.

"Well ours was always something of an unconventional romance, yeah?"

She smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she told him, moving in to kiss him, hard and deep. As their lips moved against one another's, his tongue sliding into her mouth she felt Ron harden beneath her, instantly sending pools of heat to her core.

She broke the kiss to lean back and smirked. "Are you sure about that 'no sex' rule? Because I'm not promising I'll be able to control myself. It'll be up to you to be strong for both of us."

Ron's ears reddened and when he spoke, it was in a deep, husky voice, colored with lust. "Well we'll just have to be creative, won't we? I'm sure we can figure it out." He held up his hand and clicked the Deluminator, vanishing all the light in the flat before standing up quickly, causing Hermione to shriek and wrap her legs protectively around his waist. "I hope my sister helped find you a bed. I think we're going to need to be lying down for what I have planned."

"Second door on the left," Hermione said before finding his lips once again. It was the last thing either of them said anything for a very long time.

_12 July, 1999_

Ron jumped out of the fireplace, wiping soot from his new robes to find Harry standing in front of him. "All ready to go, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded. "You? New robes fit and everything?"

"Like a glove," Ron said, feeling rather proud to be wearing the same Auror uniform as his best mate. "Where's Hermione? Taking forever to get ready for her first day?"

"Of course," Harry said, grinning.

"You think it wouldn't take as long with her hair all chopped off," Ron said, grinning back.

"I thought you said you liked it?" Hermione called as she rounded the corner from the hall, looking slightly out of breath and positively gorgeous with her chest rising and falling in a loose, but elegant white blouse and wearing a knee-length skirt that made Ron's mouth water. "It's your first day too, so don't tell me you haven't been up for ages making sure you looked the part," she said, adjusting herself quickly once she caught sight of Ron, her eyes lighting up at his presence.

"What are you talking about? I make this look easy. I was born to wear this uniform," he said confidently, though his stomach was fluttering with nerves. "And your hair is lovely," he added quickly. "But then what's taking so long?"

"I was just putting some finishing touches on my initial proposal for expanded house-elf rights. And _then _I got the idea for a new piece of werewolf legislation and I wanted to right it down before I forgot and got caught up at work…What?" she asked, catching the twin grins on her two best friends' faces.

Ron looked to Harry, rolling his eyes as if to say _What are we going to do with her_? Harry only shook his head, and continued smiling, knowing better than to say anything to set her off. She too had been a basket case the last few days about starting at the Ministry.

"Oh, nothing," Ron said, resisting the urge to wrap her in a comforting hug and remind her just how brilliant she was, settling for a smile instead. "So, you ready?"

"I think so," she said, taking a few casual steps toward him.

"Well then, let's go. I'm sure the place will be a madhouse now that the heroes of the last war are set to be working side by side."

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Come on. I'm sure Ron's right and there'll be a mess of reporters waiting for us and I don't want to be blamed for making you two late on your first day." And without another word Harry took out his wand, turned on the spot and Disapparated off to the Ministry.

As soon as he was out of sight, Ron closed the last bit of distance between then.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello yourself," Hermione told him, looking deep into his eyes. "I have to admit…you wear that uniform well."

"You don't look half bad yourself. You ready for this?"

She reached down and took his head, grasping it tightly with hers while pulling out her wand. "I am now." And with a soft 'pop' she vanished, pulling Ron right along with her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The title of this chapter comes from the song "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out" by the Smiths off their album _The Queen Is Dead_. Obviously, it also lends its name to the entire series.

Well there it is folks. Hope you liked it. Apologies to those I told this chapter would be up last moth, but the holiday here in America put me behind and then I had to rewrite the whole smutty part because I felt like I sort of rushed through it and Hermione and Ron deserved better. Plus I've undertaken two fanfiction research projects which have been consuming my time, the results of which I hope to share with you guys in the future when appropriate.

Anyway, since this is an ending of sorts, I'll ask you guys to please leave a review one last time. I hate to sound like I'm begging, but this is basically the last chance to tell me what you think, especially if you want your thoughts to count for anything in the sequel. So tell me what you think. Did you love it? Hated it? Find it realistic and believable, or were you expecting more?

Speaking of more, _Stop Making Sense_, the direct (and far less 'angst-y') sequel to _Closer _and the second entry in the 'There Is a Light' series has just had its first chapter posted (another of the reasons why it took me so long to get this one up as I was working on both at the same time. I mean c'mon, how my other writers give you guys 26k+ words of Ron/Hermione all at once?). I wanted to post it right away for those who don't have me on author alert but want to continue reading about what happens next to my version of Ron, Harry, Hermione and the whole gang and was afraid you'd miss it when I posted in a few weeks (and partially why it took me so long to post this chapter because I wanted to get that one finished as well). But don't expect chapter 2 right away. I've got a couple more chapters all but finished and the whole thing outlined, but I'm still figuring out how to sequence the whole thing, which is slowing me down. It should still be up sometime in December though.

I hope to see a lot of familiar faces over there reading and reviewing, but before you rush off to check it out don't forget to review this one first. Thanks again guys.


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